Innocence Lost and Found
by Iniga
Summary: The Dursleys are abusive, but rescuing Harry may mean that Sirius forfeits the chance to prove his innocence and put the war effort in jeopardy. Remus and Sirius help Harry through this rise of darkness as they come to terms with the last one. PreOotP.
1. Stargazing

Innocence Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.**

**Originally Posted: May 2001 (That means during the "three year summer" before the publication of OotP, HBP, and DH. This story begins at the end of GoF.)**

**Part 1: ****Stargazing**

An insistent clattering against his front window drew Remus Lupin into the room. He paid the tawny owl which had come to deliver his copy of the Daily Prophet and dropped the paper onto a convenient table, intending to return to his previous task. As the paper unfolded itself, though, a headline caught his eye and he sank into a chair to devour the news immediately.

_Dark Mark Spotted Above Wizarding Marketplace; Sirius Black Suspected_

_by Helena Jackson, special to the Daily Prophet_

For nearly fourteen years, the wizarding world has been free from the pervasive fear once inspired by a dark wizard so powerful that most are still unable to pronounce his name. You-Know-Who and his supporters, known as Death Eaters, at one time committed unspeakable atrocities, with murder and torture not least among them, but the community's mood has been one of peace since the night that Harry Potter became the Boy Who Lived. However, this relative peace has been disrupted twice during the past two years. The first unnerving event, obviously, was the escape of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's right-hand man, Sirius Black, from Azkaban. More recently, the death of Hogwarts student Cedric Diggory has been attributed by several prominent wizards and witches, including eccentric Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore, to Death Eaters and their leader. The majority of Ministry of Magic executives, as well as members of the population at large, have been loathe to accept this explanation for the tragic death of the Hufflepuff prefect. The controversy has now intensified.

_At approximately three o'clock yesterday morning, the Dark Mark was spotted above the home of Peter and Gina Malley, both veterans of the first war against You-Know-Who. The bodies of the victims were found inside the house less than an hour later._

_The Malleys . . . ._

Remus skipped the paragraphs devoted to recounting the lives of the Malleys in his rush to see where Sirius figured into the equation.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, has himself declared that Black is the culprit in these grisly murders. "We are still doing everything in our power to recapture Black," he said in a prepared statement yesterday. "Obviously, our capabilities in this area have been lessened now that we may no longer remove the dementors from Azkaban. While Black was lying low he was especially difficult to track. Now that he is again showing his true colors, the process should be speeding up. Please remember that this tragedy is the work of one man, and do not panic."

Remus threw down the paper angrily. His disgust at Fudge's behavior was overwhelmed by his concern for Sirius. Dumbledore himself had sent Remus an owl over a week ago in which he had requested that he be on the lookout for his old friend. Although Remus was not looking forward to the work the two would be doing for their former Headmaster, he was very much looking forward to seeing Padfoot again. Sirius had not been far from his thoughts since their meeting in the infamous Shrieking Shack just over a year before. The realization that Sirius had been innocent of the crimes for which he had been imprisoned had been an enormous and not unpleasant shock. Its only affect on his day-to-day life, though, had been the development of his constant fear that Sirius would be recaptured, executed, or given a dementor's kiss.

It seemed that the hunt for Sirius had intensified once more. This time, though, the accusations leveled against him would have more important ramifications than causing distress for those who cared about him. If Fudge and the members of the Ministry who followed him were able to convince the wizarding community that Voldemort had not risen again, they would buy that much more time for Voldemort to increase his power.

He sighed. Unsure as to what to do next, he aimlessly began to straighten out the living room, doing so without magic to extend the amount of time that the mindless task would require.

"Remus."

The voice from the fire caught his attention.

"Headmaster." He moved to the source of the voice and knelt before it.

"Done any stargazing lately?"

"What?" Albus Dumbledore simply stared at his former pupil until understanding dawned, and, in spite of himself, Remus rolled his eyes. "I've been looking ever since my last discussion with you, but I haven't seen anything."

"Nothing? The star we discussed last time is exceptionally bright."

"As bright a star as there is, but I haven't been able to see it. It's been rather cloudy. Cloudy enough to be a cause for concern."

"Funny you should say that. I was reading the weather section of the _Daily Prophet_ and I came to a similar conclusion."

"I believe that it's gotten to the point that it's affecting the community at large, and not just those of us who like to see the stars."

"I could not have said it better myself. The time has come to control this problem by any means necessary."

"The weather is a rather difficult thing to control, Headmaster," said Remus, forcing a laugh.

"Many things are difficult. They have a nasty habit of being the things worth doing."

"Understood."

"Keep your eye on the sky. Let me know when things change."

"Of course."

"And make certain to inform any interested parties of our new priorities."

"It would be hard to forget to do that."

"I imagine it would. See that said parties remain inconspicuous for the time being."

Remus winced theatrically. "Couldn't I just try to change the weather?"

Dumbledore's laugh was interrupted by a sharp crack as someone, or something, violated the protective ward that covered the front door of the cottage Remus currently called home. Remus stood cautiously, wand in hand, heart thudding more from anticipation than from fear. He was quite sure he knew who, or what, had tried to enter his home without an invitation.

A quick look around the corner proved that he had been right.

"Yes," he called to the detached head in the fireplace.

The head smiled. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me--" his voice cut off rather suddenly, but Remus barely noticed.

"Finite Incantantem." Hastily, he removed the wards and crossed the threshold to kneel beside a large, black, whimpering dog. The dog looked at him with wounded eyes. "You'd rather I didn't use wards?"

The animal made no reply, which would have been ordinary behavior for an average dog but which was rather odd behavior for this one. "Sirius?" he whispered, his low tone in no way softening the intense urgency which flooded his voice. "Come on." The dog half-moaned. "Should I pick you up?" He had sometimes in the past had difficulty discerning how much trouble Sirius actually happened to be in and how much Sirius felt like being dramatic. A situation could become even more complicated when one considered that, sometimes, if Sirius was in a great deal of pain, he would claim to be fine. This last was not the case here.

The black dog did wearily climb to its feet, sparing just enough energy to give Remus a haughty sniff.

"Right," he responded with a relieved laugh. "Lecture me later." He held the door open for the bedraggled animal and quickly drew the curtains throughout the room. Such a precaution was most likely unnecessary, but considering the circumstances, extra caution was a very good idea. Besides, Remus had always considered himself to be the token voice of logic when he was around his Hogwarts friends, and there was no reason for him to relinquish that role now.

The dog had collapsed into a dingy black puddle on the floor when Remus turned back to him. "It's safe." His eyes locked with the pale blue eyes of the dog, and he held his gaze as the eyes darkened and became human. Sirius slowly rose from the crouch he had been in as the transformation completed. His human eyes were tired and shadowed, and he was painfully thin and dirty. His movements were stiff as he rose to a standing position, but he managed a smile nonetheless.

"Hi, Moony," was all he could find to say. Remus felt his stomach sink, and his own knees grew weak. Sirius had used his old nickname on written scraps of parchment delivered by an odd assortment of birds over the past year, but the verbalized word, spoken by that certain voice, was rather disconcerting. "Moony? You all right?"

Remus snapped out of his reverie. Sirius was not the one who was supposed to be asking that question. "Of course--"

"You look the color of the wall."

"That's not so different from normal."

"Different enough--"

"It's just surprising to see you," Remus interrupted smoothly, stepping closer to Sirius as if to hug him, but the other man backed away.

"I would have thought Dumbledore would have told you."

"Oh, I knew you were coming," Remus rushed to assure. "It's just surprising to see you anyway. If that makes sense. Sit down before you fall down."

Sirius shook his head. "No. There's dirt from Scotland and London and everywhere in between on my robes. That chair will never be the same." He stepped back from Remus' extended hand once more, but this time Remus, making good use of his werewolf reflexes, grabbed his friend anyway.

"If I sit down, I might fall asleep." Sirius forced his too-slight weight against Remus, fighting his direction in a movement reminiscent of many battles they had had in their respective alter-forms. That memory warmed Sirius, and his smile became less nervous and more bright. "You wouldn't get the joy of talking to me." Upon Sirius' use of the word "joy," both men's expressions changed to those of contrition. The task that awaited them had not a thing to do with joy.

"Stay awake long enough to eat something," said Remus, leaving the horror that had allowed the old friends to meet once more unmentioned. "You'll sleep better if you do."

"I don't think it's that much of a problem."

"Yeah, well, you'll eat or I'll shove something down your throat." These words, naturally, were spoken with a great deal of affection. "Any preferences?"

"Nothing with rats in it."

"I was all out of rats, anyway," Remus called over his shoulder.

Short moments later, Sirius was finishing his blessedly rat-free meal. He had at first attempted not to eat like the starving man that he was, but he had given in after a few bites and had inhaled the food. Almost immediately, his eyes began to slip closed.

"Come on." Remus pulled at his arm. "Bed."

"We have to talk," Sirius mumbled groggily. "Was there a sleeping potion in that?"

Remus made a face. "Even you aren't worth concocting potions. I'll have you know that if there's a single cauldron in this house, it's down in the cellar beneath a properly thick layer of dust."

"Probably true. Listen, about Voldemort--"

"I know. We can do this when you're lucid."

"I'm lucid. We have to start now."

"You can tell me in your sleep, then."

"I do NOT talk in my sleep."

Remus raised an eyebrow.

"You and James made that up! I never said anything in my sleep."

Hands were held up in mock surrender. "I'm quite sure you didn't."

"Good."

"Certainly nothing about Laurel Windsor."

"Remus!"

His exclamation was cut short when he was ushered through a door and into a bedroom.

"What are we doing here?"

"YOU are going to sleep."

"You're awfully pushy."

"You'd be able to push back better if you weren't so tired."

"I'm not tired." Sirius' claim had grown from a desire not to force his friend to take care of him, to a playful game, to the petulant wish of a child not to be wrong.

"Isn't this a nice bed?" Remus changed the subject. "Comfortable… cool sheets… soft pillow…"

"Not funny."

"Wasn't meant to be."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You're… right."

Remus snickered. "So good of you to say so." Stepping out of his shoes, but without bothering to remove his robes, Sirius collapsed into the bed. Remus was unsure as to whether he had fallen asleep instantly, or whether he had fainted, when his friend's eyes opened once more.

"Wait." He brought himself to a sitting position with no small amount of trouble.

"Padfoot. Just lie down."

"NO!" Eyes sparked with desperation. "Harry."

"What about Harry?"

"I haven't owled him since I left Hogwarts. I was traveling so fast, but he's used to me owling him almost every day. He knows what I'm doing, and he's probably scared on top of being miserable living in that godforsaken Muggle town--"

"I'll owl him. I'll owl him right now. I'll tell him that you're here and that you'll write back as soon as he does."

"Okay." Sirius' eyes closed, and he slumped to the bed once more. Remus watched him sadly for a moment before returning to his desk and the rolls of parchment that the_ Daily Prophet _owl had torn him from little more than an hour before. Finding a clean scrap of parchment, he quickly composed a note to his former student.

_Harry--_

_Your godfather arrived at my home this morning. He will write you himself when this owl returns. We both hope that you are doing as well as can be expected given the circumstances._

_I won't write more here, as the sooner this message arrives, the better for your peace of mind and ours._

_Remus Lupin_

At his whistle, a rather common-looking gray owl emerged from the trees which surrounded the house. Prior to his year spent teaching at Hogwarts, Remus had managed to remain somewhat estranged from the wizarding community at large. Such semi-antisocial behavior made his secret easier to keep. However, now the contacts that he had resumed while teaching Harry Potter, among other children of old classmates, made the concept of hiding out here, in this rural locale, without an owl, unthinkable.

Sighing, he attempted to force himself to return to his work.

X

Sirius burrowed his face more deeply into the sweet-smelling pillow. He did not at first realize how he had come to be in this situation. He wasn't hungry, and nothing hurt (he was quite sure that the bed in which he lay contained some sort of healing powers). Perhaps his mind had finally snapped, and he was mistaking the floor of a cave for a comfortable mattress. Alternatively, perhaps he had finally encountered a hit wizard or a wild animal and his body had been what had snapped. If heaven involved this level of comfort, he was certainly not disappointed.

Gradually, coherent thoughts came crawling back to him. He had made it. He was with Remus. In spite of himself, he allowed a groan to escape his lips. He had sauntered into the home of a friend he had seen just once in the past fourteen years and wound up joking with him as if they had never been apart. The reaction had been a nervous one, and Remus had been playing along-- he might even have started the game-- but Sirius found himself flipping through as much of their conversation as he could remember to discern if he had said anything offensive. He had made a reference to eating rats, which Remus had probably not picked up on; he had accused Remus of feeding him a sleeping potion; and he had called Remus pushy. Remus had said worse, hadn't he? He had certainly been nervous, too; otherwise, he would not have paled so thoroughly upon seeing Sirius. Did he look so bad?

He rose from the bed and glanced into a mirror, which responded by screaming.

It was entirely possible that he DID look that bad.

A hastily written note in familiar handwriting lay on the bureau beneath the mirror and informed him that Remus was off chasing a grindylow which had invaded a swimming pond belonging to a nearby farm. The note further encouraged him to make himself at home. He did not know how long ago the note had been left for him, but he showered as quickly as he could considering the amount of effort it actually took him to get clean.

"Much better," said the mirror in a relieved sort of a voice when he glanced into it again.

"Thanks," he told it.

"You're still too thin."

He decided that it would be bad form to tell his friend's mirror to shut the hell up.

"I'll work on it." First, though, he worked on cleaning up the room and his clothing as much as he could. When that duty was complete, he wandered through the small cottage, stopping with interest when he came to Remus' desk. Moony had obviously already begun the work they were to do together over the next short while. It mostly consisted of subtly contacting old allies and feeling out younger witches and wizards to see who sided with whom.

"We have a long way to go." Remus' voice interrupted his thoughts.

Sirius whirled around. "How…?"

"I don't walk into the wards. And there are a lot of silencing charms in here, for obvious reasons." Sirius nodded. "You look better."

"I feel better." Now the pauses began to become awkward. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." When the silence threatened to lengthen, Remus offered, "I sent your letter to Harry as soon as you fell asleep."

"How long ago was that?"

"About fourteen hours. If he sends a return owl, it will probably get here tomorrow morning with the Daily Prophet."

"Have they printed any exciting fabrications in the past few days?" Remus quite clearly winced. "What?" asked Sirius warily.

"It's good news, in a way," said Remus carefully.

"I could use some good news."

"Proving your innocence has become rather a high priority."

"It always was a priority for me."

"For me, too. But it's become a priority for the cause of light magic."

"Most of the supporters of light magic have no idea that I'm innocent."

"No. It seems that they're coming into danger because of that."

"Do you plan to stop beating around the bush any time soon?"

"Cornelius Fudge, in his infinite wisdom," the two friends shared a scowl, "has been blaming two deaths and an appearance of the Dark Mark on you. He wants to keep the public from panicking and believing that Voldemort really has returned."

Sirius did some creative swearing. In situations like these, his long years in Azkaban served him well.

"That was my thought, too," admitted Remus. "But I was speaking to Professor Dumbledore right before you arrived, and he suggests that we will simply have to make it plain that you were not responsible. I expect we'll be calling in some favors and making a few threats. If worst comes to worst, we might be able to have a spy come forward and testify that Peter's alive."

Sirius snorted. "Not likely."

"What?"

"Do you know? Who Dumbledore's most important spy is?" He expected that this wasn't information to be flung around lightly, but Remus was Remus, and he had to tell someone.

"No."

Sirius resisted the urge to cradle the bombshell before he dropped it. "Severus Snape."

"WHAT?" Remus didn't often lose his composure, and Sirius smiled in spite of himself.

"The one and only."

"I had no idea."

"Neither did I. Seems he's good at his job."

"Was he a Death Eater?"

"Looks that way--"

"Harry!"

"What?" Sirius was momentarily unbalanced by his friend's seeming non-sequiter.

"The owl. He's back." Remus muttered a spell and a window flew open, granting the owl entrance. A note was tied to his leg, but it was the same note Remus had addressed to Harry that morning.

"What's wrong with that bird?"

"He's never given me trouble before," Remus defended. "He's not the best, but he's still very smart."

"Then what's wrong with Harry?" Sirius' voice hit a level of worry that one who did not know him would not have believed possible.

"It could be nothing." Remus' statement convinced neither of them. "It could be that his aunt and uncle were out and he wasn't home--"

"So this 'smart' owl of yours didn't wait, or find him?"

Remus glanced at the owl. "Maybe he's having a bad day." A hoot of indignation greeted this suggestion. The owl then gave the two men his best approximation of an exasperated stare and fluttered to the window, darting aside when another, familiar owl arrived.

"That's Hedwig!" Sirius exclaimed, fairly ripping the beautiful bird from the air in his haste to find the letter. "This isn't Harry's handwriting."

Remus shook his head. "It's Hermione's. She borrows Harry's owl sometimes."

"Why is she writing to you?" asked Sirius, not distracted but still curious.

"She just has since I left off teaching her." Remus shrugged. "She's a Muggle born. I think she likes having a wizard who isn't exactly a professor or a friend's parent to talk to." He removed the letter completely and released Hedwig, who fluttered to sit on the window ledge beside his own owl.

"You're going to read that NOW?"

"She MAY know what's going on with Harry."

Sirius nearly flushed. "Sorry." Remus shrugged, and Sirius moved to read the letter over his friend's shoulder.

"Dear Professor Lupin," it began. "I need your help. Harry is in trouble…"


	2. Meanwhile

**Part 2: Meanwhile...**

Fourteen-year-old Harry Potter shivered beneath the worn sheet that covered his bed. He did not shiver from cold, as it was summer, and the air was warm; instead, he shivered, or perhaps shuddered, from the memory of his dream.

Kill the spare. Kill the spare. Kill the spare.

Harry Potter, it had often been said, was a most unusual boy. Not only was he a wizard, but he was the only wizard who had ever survived once Lord Voldemort had decided to kill him. However, each year since his eleventh birthday, Lord Voldemort and his followers had done their level best to remedy that situation. Quite frankly, Harry was growing tired of this state of things.

Kill the spare. Kill the spare. Kill the spare.

The first time he had returned to his Aunt and Uncle's house after spending a year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had begun to suffer nightmares. He had seen his closest friend Ron die in agony, attacked by life-sized, sentient chess pieces. He had seen his other best friend, Hermione, enfolded by the tendrils of a carnivorous plant or poisoned by a vial of liquid that she had thought to be her salvation.

Kill the spare. Kill the spare. Kill the spare.

The nightmares had become both more bearable and more elaborate over the years. They were more bearable simply because he had developed a tolerance for them. Getting used to night terrors was rather like getting used to watching his cousin Dudley eat. One could build up an immunity if given enough time. They were more elaborate because each year Harry and his friends seemed to discover some new piece of information which had the potential to get them killed. Harry had seen Hermione lying petrified, unmoving and frozen; he had seen Ron preparing himself to be fed to a carnivorous sort of spider called an acromantula; he had seen enormous snakes and enchanted diaries drag the nearly-lifeless body of Ron's sister Ginny into the caverns below their school; he had seen Ron kidnapped, his leg broken, by a real live Grim; he had seen Hermione shaking with fear as she flew a stolen hippogriff high above the towers of Hogwarts; he had seen swarms of dementors threaten nearly everyone he cared about; and all of this he had seen during the course of his waking life. His dreams enhanced the feeling that everything was out of his control and melded the horrific events together into one that was more than the sum of its parts.

Kill the spare. Kill the spare. Kill the spare.

The most recent year had, in a warped sort of a way, been better than the first three. Ron and Hermione had not been in real, immediate danger, unless of course one chose to count the time they had been rendered unconscious and held captive by a colony of Merpeople. That kidnapping, though, had been sanctioned by the school and its headmaster. Many things had been sanctioned by the school and its headmaster.

Kill the spare. Kill the spare. Kill the spare.

Harry had spent less time with Ron and Hermione during their fourth year of training than he had during the first three because he had been forced to participate in a contest known as the Triwizard Tournament. The final task of the tournament had been transformed into an elaborate tool designed to draw Harry to Voldemort so that Voldemort could complete the murder he had first attempted more than thirteen years before. However, Cedric Diggory, another Hogwarts student, had been transported along with Harry. In truth, Harry had insisted that Cedric come with him, although he had not known what he had been asking for at the time. When Voldemort had seen Cedric, he had uttered the three words that most haunted Harry now:

Kill. The. Spare.

At least it hadn't been Hermione or Ron. The twinge of guilt that had not left Harry since the disastrous end to his fourth year at Hogwarts intensified. Almost instantly, he had thought, deep inside, that he was glad that the murdered student had not been one of his close friends. It had not even been one of his roommates, Neville or Seamus or Dean; not one of his Quidditch teammates, Katie or Alicia or Angelina or one of the twins; not even a Gryffindor.

He knew that he was horrible to feel relief that Voldemort's latest victim was someone he had barely known, especially because he had played a part in that someone's death. He had liked Cedric, certainly; it had been rather hard not to, but Cedric had been two years older and had lived in a different house at school.

Still, Cedric had been killed for standing next to Harry. Long ago, Harry's mother had died for refusing to leave him, as well. Harry didn't need to be at the top of his class at Hogwarts, as Hermione was, to figure out a pattern there. He was almost glad that his aunt and uncle had decided that he had fabricated the story of his powerful godfather and refused to allow him to send or receive owl post this summer. The fewer connections Ron and Hermione had to him, the better.

He had, however, all but given his beloved owl, Hedwig, to Hermione. Hermione did not have an owl of her own, preferring a rather ugly but remarkably smart cat named Crookshanks. However much Hermione loved Crookshanks, though, he could not be used to send letters to her friends. Hedwig would be much happier spending the summer visiting Hermione than locked in her cage. His relatives had been pleased by the bird's absence, and had sealed his windows shut so that he could receive no post from other birds.

Harry did miss his owl. She had been a loyal pet from the first day he had seen her in a pet shop in Diagon Alley soon after his eleventh birthday. For three long summers, she had been the only living thing that did not wince at the sight of Harry. He had never before considered that perhaps he was worthy of those winces; that perhaps Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would have done the wizarding world a favor had they succeeded in their quest to keep him away from Hogwarts.

Deciding that he had spent enough time loathing himself for the morning, Harry slipped quietly out of bed and stretched before beginning to tidy his room. It was locked from the outside, but Aunt Petunia would soon pull the bar back on her way down to the kitchen. Harry would be expected to join her presently, and help with the cleaning and the cooking. He had had a reprieve from these chores for his first few summers after leaving for school, but Aunt Petunia had told Uncle Vernon that she suddenly found Harry more docile, and that she wanted to use him to help her every so often this summer. "Every so often" had become very often indeed, and, for the first time in his life, Harry felt that his only living blood relations were almost pleased with him.

"_I don't know quite how to explain it," he'd overheard Aunt Petunia telling Uncle Vernon. "I think that some of his-- strangeness-- has gone. You can see it when you look into his eyes. It used to be that even if he was following your instructions to the letter, it would be like he was thinking about some way to sabotage them, or thinking of some way to show that he just didn't respect us. He always had some ill-bred comment when Dudley spoke to him. Now he's quiet. Works like a robot. No smirk plastered to his face like he's just waiting to tell his miserable freak friends some story about us."_

"_None of his oddness is gone, Petunia," Uncle Vernon had growled. "Look at that hair. He must be lying in wait. But I'll admit I'm glad I haven't heard a word about wanting his books, or his scrolls, or his damn wand!"_

"_The wand. Oh, don't even mention the word--"_

"Harry Potter." The real Aunt Petunia's voice over-rode the daydream Aunt Petunia's voice. "Are you ready to come downstairs and make breakfast?"

"Yes." Harry's one-word answer was soft and hoarse.

"Speak up." Harry didn't really care that, if he had spoken up, his aunt would have reprimanded him for being loud at an hour at which Dudley might still be asleep, not that anything short of the house collapsing would awaken Dudley.

"Yes." Harry had to summon all of his strength to make his reply audible. He felt tired all the time now, although he didn't know why.

"Good." The bolt slid out of place, and Harry stood, weaving slightly on his feet as he did so. However, his vision cleared before his aunt had finished clucking over the sorry state of his bed, which had been made with hand-me-downs from Dudley that had been in a sorry state the first time Harry had seen them. He hadn't even been able to stay asleep long enough to sweat through them lately.

Petunia turned sharply to her nephew. "Well, get along. Sausages. Three of them. Just a little something to go with the grapefruit." Harry nodded. He felt a strange sensation of liberation. He knew that once he would have cared, on a physical level if not an emotional one, that everyone in the house but he would be getting a sausage to go with his or her grapefruit quarter.

Some mornings, when he was working like this, Harry pretended to be a house elf. He knew that he was too old for "pretending" games, but as no one really wanted or expected him to exist in the real world, he did not see what harm creeping into his own mind would do.

Today, though, the game felt old. He could not find anything to do with his thoughts as he sliced the grapefruit, and sweetened it with maple syrup, topping it with a cherry and running it under the broiler. His own wedge he left plain. Aunt Petunia had never specifically told him to do so, but he imagined she that she wanted it that way. It didn't matter to him. It tasted of sawdust in any case.

The sausages crackled perfectly, and he slid them onto plates just as his enormous uncle and cousin lumbered down the stairs to the breakfast table. Harry quietly took his seat, as well, carefully keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Even Sirius had told him that he should, although Sirius had only meant until the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Sirius was another person who had been adversely affected by his relationship with Harry. Sirius had been safe, and healthy, in some far-off country until he had become aware of Harry's entry in the Triwizard Tournament. Then, because of some responsibility he had felt to Harry's dead parents, he had gone to rot and starve in a cave near Hogwarts.

"What time is Marge coming in?" Aunt Petunia asked as soon as she was able to catch Uncle Vernon's eye.

"Ten o'clock," Uncle Vernon replied from behind his bushy mustache. "And YOU," he added, jabbing a finger at Harry. "Do you know what this means?"

Harry assumed that Uncle Vernon would tell him.

"Answer me, boy!"

"I'll be quiet and behave myself." This had always seemed to be a good answer, although it was frequently met with raucous laughter. "Good answers," even those that he had known since infancy, seemed to elude Harry sometimes now.

"You will. You will speak when spoken to. And we'll not have another incident like the last time, or you'll find yourself in an orphanage, as you should have years ago."

Harry nodded. He had often thought that he would like to live in an orphanage, but he knew that Uncle Vernon's threat was an empty one, even if Uncle Vernon did not. Toward the end of the previous school year, when he had been freed from his final examinations, he had found himself reading a rather curious book about protective wards. Truth be told, he had been drawn to the book because it had been misfiled into the library's Quidditch section, but it had been most interesting. Entire chapters had been dedicated to the power of biological ties, and he realized that Headmaster Dumbledore had indeed had a reason for not allowing him to move in with the Weasley family on a permanent sort of basis. He was safer here than anywhere else, and he took a certain amount of protection with him each time he left. The Ministry of Magic would put the strongest memory charms ever devised on the Dursleys before they would allow Harry to move into an orphanage.

"Boy?"

"I will speak when I'm spoken to, and there will not be an incident like the last time," Harry repeated mechanically.

"Right." Uncle Vernon stood up, having protected his grapefruit and sausage from Dudley's grasp, and cuffed Harry behind his head with an open hand. Harry's forehead struck the table, but he sat up again silently.

"Watch it!" Aunt Petunia snapped. "I'll not have you spilling things and marking up the table." For a wild moment, Harry thought that she had been reprimanding her husband, but then recalled that he was rather expected to resist, or duck from, such blows, and that his allowing himself to be struck could certainly be considered a kind of troublemaking. Then, though, Petunia did turn to her husband. "Don't leave any marks on him. If someone ends up seeing him with bruises on his face, people will talk."

"We'll say he got them roughhousing with Dudley."

"We don't want to have to say anything at all!" Aunt Petunia's voice rose shrilly. She liked nothing better than to talk about her neighbors and nothing less than to have them talk about her.

"They won't. I'll bring Marge when I come home for lunch."

"We'll be ready. Won't we, Duddy?"

Dudley grunted and nodded, and then waddled off to the living room to watch television. Harry, for his part, marched methodically through a morning of activity. Aunt Marge's inevitable arrival was no different than it had ever been. Dudley was praised, and Harry was insulted.

"I daresay, Vernon," Aunt Marge said after several hours of conversation, "He's actually improved. He'll always be scrawny and a bit off, but he's lost some of that glitter in his eye. Not sullen and rebellious like he was. Getting hit a lot at your school?"

"Some. Not as much as before," Harry answered automatically.

"So the extreme force is working." Aunt Petunia nodded in agreement. "Is he getting to be useful at all?"

"Useful is something he'll never be!" roared Uncle Vernon before his wife could answer. "A waste of space, always."

"Granted, but you do have to do the best you can," Aunt Marge replied in what she seemed to think was a conciliatory tone. "Even failures can be of some service, sometimes."

"What are you thinking of?"

"I've just remembered that I haven't brought enough treats for the whole time I'll be here. Can't let the poor dogs suffer for my mistakes." Aunt Marge had brought two dogs with her on this visit, and to Aunt Petunia's relief they were currently resting not on the kitchen floor but on the front porch.

"We'll run right out and pick some up," Uncle Vernon said quickly, rising quickly from his chair as if he were eager to leave his own sister.

"No! No, Vernon, I won't hear of it. I don't see why we can't let the runt do it. It will only be a few pounds I'll need to trust him with, and he can walk to the store a few streets down without any trouble. And if he DOES happen to step in front of a car, well, like parents, like child!" The room erupted with laughter. Aunt Marge believed that Harry's parents had died in a car accident.

"I don't believe that he should be trusted with something as important as your dog's treats," Aunt Petunia put in, but Aunt Marge waved her off. "It's an impossible chore to do badly. And things will be so much more pleasant without him to look at for a few minutes." Her statement left no room for argument, and Harry's guardians were forced to agree to the plan.

Mere seconds later, Harry was out the door, blinking in bright sunlight and clutching strict instructions and three two-pound coins in his hand. Never before had he held so much Muggle money. He stumbled dumbly to the sidewalk. While in previous summers he had done a great deal of yardwork, that had not been among his appointed chores so far this year, and he noticed that it had been a long time since he had felt sunlight on his skin. He recalled that he liked the feeling. It reminded him of his Care of Magical Creatures class, or of adventuring with Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts grounds or in Hogsmeade.

The walk was not a terribly long one, but he decided to take it as slowly as he could, since the sunlight was clearing away some of the fog that had pervaded his waking mind lately. At night, in bed, he was perfectly able to think about his school and the dangers it was facing, in part because of him; but in the day, when he was working, he was able to forget about the finer points of his life, to forget about thinking entirely. This system had made it easy for him not to feel too schoolsick for Ron and Hermione and Quidditch and his classes and his circular dormitory and his bed with its red hangings and the common room with its big chairs and the Weasley twins' jokes and Ginny's smile and Hagrid's cabin and the shops at Hogsmeade and the large-eyed house elves and little Collin Creevey and his camera and the view from the astronomy tower at night and Cho Chang's pretty face even though Cho had gone to the Yule Ball with Cedric-- _damn it!_

Cedric couldn't miss any of those things any more, even though he would have been able to enjoy them had Harry not _insisted_ that they take the victory cup together. Harry knew he had had a reason to drift into the waking slumber in which he had spent the first part of his summer.

His pace quickened as his anxiety heightened. He fairly flew into the store an collected the "Pretty Puppy Power Pills" as ordered. The woman behind the counter favored him with a concerned glance. "Are you all, right, dear?"

"Fine," breathed Harry, startled by the kind, direct gaze.

"You look flushed. Have you been ill-- oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"It's all right." Harry would not have wanted to pour his feelings out to this stranger even if she could have understood his problems, so he took his leave, trying to look as healthy and contented as possible.

"Wait," she called after him. "Your change."

"I didn't think there was supposed to be any."

"We're overstocked. Having an impromptu sale." The liquid look in her eyes as she followed his movements made Harry wonder if she spoke the truth, but he did not bother to force the issue as he accepted ninety pence and thanked the clerk.

He had no idea what to do with ninety pence. Certainly he could buy a snack with it, but while the previous summer, the first of Dudley's diet, had been an exercise in constant hunger, he never seemed to want to eat anymore. The mere thought of food sometimes made his stomach lurch. There was always the possibility of buying a Muggle toy or trinket that Ron would find fascinating, but with each passing year Ron became more sensitive to Harry's small fortune, good only in the wizarding world, when compared to his own lack of spending money. A phone booth caught his eye, but he had no way of calling whatever phone Ron had access to, and besides, he had already decided that Ron would be better off if the two of them grew apart a little, or a lot. The same was true of Hermione, although her parents' office was probably in the directory that was perched happily inside the glass enclosure.

The pence could always be returned to Aunt Marge, but any happening out of the ordinary would make Aunt Petunia suspicious. Harry supposed he should just keep it in case he ended up lost or stranded in the Muggle world.

On his trip to the store, he had not noticed how many phone booths lay scattered along the road. Some of them were even set back from the street, and could not be spotted by someone casually turning into or out of one of the residential streets, such as, for example, Privet Drive.

His willpower ran out when he was half a step beyond the last booth. Decision made, he turned on his heel and gratefully shut himself inside the small cell. He positioned himself so that he could see all of the comings and goings of the nearby neighborhood, although there were not many. Wizards hardly ever knew anything about Muggles and the way they lived-- Ron was proof enough of that. No one would realize that he and Hermione were communicating with each other if they did not use any magic. Blood rushed to his ears and his hands shook as he fumbled through the directory, searching for an office that housed a pair of dentists named Granger.

Hermione, he knew, was spending her summer playing receptionist. She had been rather perturbed that her parents had deemed her too young to spend the summer on the continent with her boyfriend, Victor Krum, but she had eventually agreed to take this temporary job and learn responsibility. While Harry had in truth agreed with Hermione's parents that spending the summer in Europe with her older, famous boyfriend had not been the best idea he had ever heard (though he had been wise enough not to share this thought with his friend), he also thought that Hermione was far from needing to learn responsibility.

Half of him hoped that he would be unable to track down the number he needed. Aside from not wanting to encourage Voldemort and his followers to attack Hermione, he was, in a manner of speaking, slightly nervous about telephoning Hermione. He had never actually phoned a friend in his life. He had had no friends, and a distinct lack of permission to touch the telephone, as a young child; and now that he had friends who were wizards and witches, he did not need to use telephones. What would he say?

The number was annoyingly easy to find, and he dialed before he could change his mind yet again. Changing his mind now would feel uncomfortably like chickening out, and he did not want to be unworthy of Godric Gryffindor's house in addition to being a danger to the whole school.

He heard one ring and then another. Then, he heard a voice he would know anywhere, sounding professional with an undertone of boredom, inform him that he had reached Granger and Granger Dental Associates.

Suddenly panicking, he could find nothing better to say than "Are you accepting new patients?"

"Well, yes. Owing to our vacation schedule, it might be difficult to squeeze you in right away. Are you calling on behalf of a firm or on behalf of an individual?"

"An individual family."

"Wizards or Muggles?"

"What?"

"Not a very convincing 'what.'"

"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number--"

"Hang up and I'll tell Hedwig on you, Harry."

Harry dropped his game instantly. "Is Hedwig all right? And how did you know it was me?"

"Hedwig is sitting perfectly happily in the tree in my backyard, or she was when I left this morning. And as for how I knew it was you, wouldn't you be insulted if I didn't?"

"Not really."

"Why didn't you just say who you were?"

"I didn't know if it was a good idea to call you at work."

"It's a very good idea, as it's you. How did you get to a phone?"

"My Uncle Vernon's sister--"

"The one you blew up?" Hermione interrupted.

"That's the only one. Thank God. Anyway, she decided that I've improved since the last time she saw me and she got my Aunt and Uncle to use me to pick up dog treats for her." He wrinkled his nose. "Pretty Puppy Power Pills."

"So she finally came in useful."

"That's what she said about me."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She said that I don't look as crafty as I used to. That my eyes are duller, and I'm not thinking demonic thoughts all the time."

"Are you? Is it an act? Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"You can't be fine. Not living with those people. How un-fine are you? Really?" Anxiety rose in Hermione's voice. Harry wondered if she had a book in which she could look up causes of losing the demonic look in one's eyes open on her lap.

"It's the same as always."

"Are you getting enough to eat? Do you want me to send Hedwig back with something? We've always sent you food in the summer before. Are you hungry?"

"I'm not hungry. Trust me."

"You're not hungry because you're getting enough to eat or you're not hungry because you're sick and you don't want to eat?"

"What does it matter? The first one."

"I don't know if I believe you."

"Then don't. How's your summer going?"

"I spend most of my time working here or reading. I can't wait to go visit Ron. Are you coming?"

"I don't think so."

"He's not going to take that for an answer."

"He'll have to."

"Don't you want to come?"

"I don't really see the point. I mean, we've all done that before." Harry swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, but Hermione was on a mission and she missed nothing.

"What's really wrong? Why can't you come? Your aunt and uncle won't be a problem."

"It's not that."

"What is it? Does Dumbledore still say no? Have you talked to the Weasleys at all? You haven't, have you, you haven't been writing Ron either."

"You have Hedwig."

"He said he sent Pig to you, and he came back without an answer. He's frantic, Harry, and so am I. Why won't you talk to us?"

"I'm talking to you now. I'm kind of sorry I am, but I am."

Hermione inhaled sharply, and Harry suddenly noticed that he had been speaking more loudly than he had intended to do. He could not see his friend, and he was not accustomed to interpreting noises over a somewhat scratchy electric connection, but he suspected that Hermione might be crying. She had always been prone to crying at the most random of times, but that didn't mean he had to like it, even if he had to find some way to end their friendship. He had to do that gradually, too, so Ron and Hermione would not suspect and do something foolish like the pigheadedly loyal Gryffindors that they truly were.

"Are you crying?"

"No." That was a lie.

"Why are you crying? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called y--"

"You should have. I'm glad you did. I don't you to be sorry you did."

"I'm not, I'm not. I was being mean. I wanted to hear your voice, that's all. I wanted to actually talk to someone, I don't know, I didn't feel this bad when I left Hogwarts--" he broke himself off suddenly. The last thing he had intended to do was further worry Hermione or convince her that she should find some way to get in more permanent contact with him.

"Harry--"

"I have to go. If I take any more time they'll be upset." Not trusting himself to really undo the damage he had done, he slammed the phone down, and turned his feet in the direction of Privet Drive.

"Harry!" Sitting on the edge of the receptionist's chair in her parents' office, Hermione Granger glanced around quickly, hastily brushing tears off of her cheeks. No one had seen her outburst. She flipped the answering machine on and hastened into the exams rooms. Happily, she found her mother standing in the hallway and examining an x-ray.

"Mum?"

"Hermione? Are you all right?"

"I really don't feel well. Can I go home for the rest of the day? There's no one in the waiting room but that little boy's mother."

"Yes, of course you can." She placed a hand to her daughter's forehead. "You're flushed. Have you been crying?"

"No," Hermione lied. "My head just hurts. Please?"

"I said yes. Let me finish up here and I'll drive you and come back."

"That's okay. You won't have a receptionist so it'll be busy enough. I can take the bus. I have before."

The dentist nodded. "All right. But ring as soon as you get back so we don't worry. And take it easy."

"I will." The bus ride seemed interminable, and by the time Hermione made it to her family's large, pretty house, she was crying hysterical tears once more. "Hedwig!" She hoped the owl was asleep, and not off on a hunting trip. A hoot greeted her and she went weak with relief. "I need you to take a letter to Remus Lupin. Quickly. I think Harry's in trouble." Hedwig gave her a look as if she understood perfectly. Hermione had written her note on the bus, using a page from her father's appointment book and an aged ball-point pen instead of parchment and ink, but she supposed it would make little difference.

_Dear Professor Lupin,_

_I need your help. Harry is in trouble. I don't think that it's anything that Professor Dumbledore or the Ministry of Magic would really care about, so I'm writing to you._

_It's not that I think You-Know-Who is going to sneak in his bedroom window. However, Harry has not been communicating with Ron or me this summer. He has asked me to keep Hedwig and he has not replied to letters sent to him with other owls. This afternoon, though, he rang me on the phone. He sounded sick, and tired, and he said that his relatives are happier with him because he doesn't think, and his eyes are dull! _

_This would be bad enough with anyone, but Harry lives with a family that does not love or want him. These people locked him in a cupboard until he came to Hogwarts! They've put bars on his windows, and he always comes back to school for the fall term underweight._

_Can you help me find a way to see him? Or can you go see him yourself? He also claims that he does not want to visit Ron this summer because he's done it before. Someone who cares about more than the fact that he is physically alive needs to check on him. _

_I hope that I am not over-reacting, but past experience has taught me the at over-reacting is rarely possible when Harry is involved._

_Respectfully,_

_Hermione Granger_

Sirius Black tore the letter from its addressee's hand and stormed across the room in one long stride. "There. That's it! I'm going to go see him right now."

"You can't," Remus replied as calmly as he could.

"Watch me!"

"I can't."

"Why not? Hermione knows Harry, and she's a better judge of character than most witches twice her age. If she says something's wrong, I'm willing to bet Buckbeak that SOMETHING'S WRONG!"

"I agree with you. We have to help him. But you can't just Apparate into his room. There are anti-Apparition spells and protective wards and disorientation spells all over that neighborhood. You'd never be able to find Privet Drive. You've been using a wand and you're giving off a magical signature."

"Harry told me that Ron and his brothers picked him up in a flying car once. How did they manage that?"

"Voldemort hadn't returned to power yet. The disorientation spells had been set to recognize Arthur and Molly Weasley, and the car was Arthur's. It bore his signature. The boys didn't use any formal magic-- they didn't enchant the car themselves-- so they passed through as Muggles. We also have to be concerned about the fact that you're a wanted man, and half the wizarding world thinks you put up the Dark Mark the other night. But…"

Sirius growled low in his throat. "But?"

"But I have a plan."


	3. Trying Hermione

**Part 3: Trying Hermione**

Sirius was torn between wanting to wring Remus' neck for not speaking more quickly and wanting to hug him. Remus had a plan, and Sirius knew that no one planned like Remus. That had been part of what had made them a finely matched pair of friends in school; Sirius had been impulsive and prone to going off half-cocked, but Remus, who had prided himself on restraint, had been able to hone Sirius' ideas into schemes that worked. James, of course, had been the leader, always finding the middle ground between Sirius and Remus when they disagreed. Peter had supported James-- but Sirius did his best to leave Peter out of his Hogwarts memories now.

"Well?"

"You just need a guide. Someone who won't give off a magical signature, but who understands the situation and is completely trustworthy."

"Are you going to make me play twenty questions?"

In response, Remus took the letter that Sirius still held and hit his friend over the head with it.

"Really?"

"Really."

"She's still a kid."

"She's involved already."

"Do you plan to explain this to her parents?"

"No. I plan for you to explain this to her parents while I stay here. We can't afford to fall out of communication with Arabella and Mundungus right now."

"What should I say?"

"You've never been at a loss for words before."

"Remus."

"Say anything. Say you're one of her professors and you're there to take her on an unplanned school trip."

"That's not three-quarters bad."

"Thanks."

"Can I say I'm you?"

"Only if you don't do anything I wouldn't do."

In spite of the tension, a broad smirk slid across Sirius' face. "I think I can handle that."

"It doesn't count things I did under duress when I was an innocent teenager."

"Under duress?"

"That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Can you Apparate with the wand you're using now?"

"Yes."

"Then it's no problem. We just have to wait until morning. I don't think her parents would be open to the idea of your whisking her away in the middle of the night."

Sirius made a face. "I hate waiting."

"So do I, Padfoot. So do I."

X

The night was no shorter for Hermione than it was for her former professor and his friend. She had little trouble convincing her parents that she was truly sick; she was irritable, nervous, and unable to sleep. Hermione was used to worrying about Harry. She had done so almost since meeting him, to the point of accompanying him uninvited on a duel before their friendship had solidified because she had been sure that neither he nor Ron actually knew any dueling spells. "Drop your wand and punch him in the nose," indeed! This summer, though, things were different. Accepting that Harry, and Ron too, often found his way into dangerous situations was one thing; hearing Harry admit that the situation was affecting him was another, and more troubling.

Thus, she felt that nothing less than a miracle had occurred the next morning when she heard the voice of a man, young but aged beyond his years, in the front hall of her family's home. Her first impulse was to run into the room screaming "Sirius!" at the top of her lungs, but some sort of premonition restrained her and she paused for a moment behind the door.

"…And as Hermione is such an exceptional student, we thought that we should go out of our way to invite her to have this experience," Sirius was saying.

"Professor Lupin," Hermione nearly interrupted her father by snickering as she wondered if Sirius had his friend's permission to impersonate him "you have me convinced, but Hermoine's been feeling a bit off. I'm not sure she's up to it."

"Up to what?" she asked as she made her belated entrance. Her jaw nearly dropped as she did so; she had recognized Sirius by his voice, and that was a good thing, because she would never have recognized him by his appearance. She had never before seen him with clean clothes and hair, and was startled to note that, when given the opportunity to take care of himself, he looked his relatively young age.

"A school field trip," Sirius explained hastily, obviously not certain that Hermione had overheard his new identity. "Since I taught you the year before last--"

"Yes, Professor Lupin," Hermione cut in quickly so that Sirius would not have to make any more explanatory statements. "Whatever the trip is, I'm gong."

"Are you sure?" her father asked. "You seemed horribly sick yesterday. You still look tired."

"Just a little tired. And I can't miss an experience like this one."

"You don't even know what it is," her father pointed out.

"It's sure to be fascinating. I hardly ever get exposed to magic outside school since I'm not from a wizarding family. This is a great opportunity." She favored her father with a beseeching smile which threatened to become a grin as she saw permission enter his eyes.

"Far be it for me to deny you a learning experience. Go for it."

"Thanks," she said quickly before turning to her "professor" and inquiring as to whether she needed to bring anything.

"Just yourself. Get ready."

"I am ready."

"All right, then." Both called good-bye to Hermione's parents, and Hermione soon found herself pulled behind a cluster of bushes near the corner of her street.

"Why are you pretending to be Professor Lupin?" she asked before Sirius could open his mouth. "Does he know? Did he get my owl? Have you talked to Harry? Is he okay?" The questions flowed forth in an urgent stream.

Luckily, Sirius, who had often in his youth been accused of being unable to keep his mouth shut, was able to keep up with Hermione's rapid-fire questioning. "I didn't think I had much chance of kidnapping you as myself, he knows, he got the letter and that's why I'm here, and we are on our way to check on Harry."

"We are? Really? Why me and not Ron?"

"You have more knowledge of Muggles, and now that I think about it, Harry's miserable family is less likely to recognize you than Ron. He's been to that house before and I doubt they'd forget that hair." Hermione and Sirius shared a grin. She had attempted to straighten her own hair that morning, the Muggle way, with a comb and a blowdrier, but the summer heat was already causing its natural frizziness to return. A moment before, she would have traded her hair for Ron's in a second; but now she was thrilled that its ordinary color would allow her to see Harry, face to face.

"Are you going to stay Professor Lupin?"

"No. I'm not the least bit connected to the magical community, and neither are you."

Hermione blushed. "Oh. Of course not."

"I believe you'll be my daughter. Follow my lead. And try to be a spoiled brat." She nodded. She had had enough experience with spoiled brats that such an acting job should not be difficult. "So, dear daughter, do you trust me to Apparate with you?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "You can do that? Apparate someone else?"

"It's frowned upon as dangerous, but luckily I'm really good." Sirius' cocky smile had its intended effect of reassuring Harry's young friend, and, seeing this, he continued. "I'm going to take us to a train station. Your job is to work out a way to get us to Harry's house using Muggle transport and then to get us there. The Ministry covered his neighborhood with anti-Apparition spells and disorientation spells that aren't going to affect you because you're considered a Muggle for the summer."

"Can I ask one more question?"

"Make it fast."

"Why don't the Death Eaters just hire a Muggle to walk up to Harry's house and kill him?"

Sirius shrugged. "That seems to be a loophole in the defenses. Most Death Eaters are too bigoted to deal with a Muggle. Harry's also never there alone. It's a hard place for someone to waltz into without permission."

"Why can't Lucius Malfoy use Draco the way you're using me?"

"Draco lives in a wizarding community. His clothes, the food in his stomach, anything, is likely to be full of magic. That's another reason we wanted you and not Ron."

"But if Lucius Malfoy found a Slytherin Muggle-born--"

Sirius cut her off with a snort. "You're telling me there are some?"

"If there were?"

"There aren't. Are you ready?"

"Ready." Under ordinary circumstances, Hermione would have relished the new feeling of Apparating. Today, though, she shook off the vaguely electrical feeling, not so terribly different from using a portkey, and scrambled out of their deserted alcove on a quest to find stacks of schedules and rows of ticket machines. Quickly and efficiently, she plotted a course that would put them within walking distance of Privet Drive. The journey was relatively trouble-free, and Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find that Sirius was not awed by Muggle infrastructure or prone to gawking at the most ordinary things, as she was sure Ron and his family would have been. She fervently hoped, though, that one day life would calm down enough to allow her (and Harry) to take Ron on a tour of the Muggle world.

"Sirius! Follow me," she reminded her companion for the umpteenth time as they meandered toward Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Sorry."

"We're almost there."

"How close are we?"

"That's the street, right there," she pointed. "That's probably the phone he used to call me-- yesterday?" So many things had happened in such a short expanse of time that she was unsure as to exactly how much time had passed. _A natural time-turner_, she thought as she shook her head. "That's it."

Hermione felt something akin to shock as she stared at the house. It looked perfectly harmless and, well, normal. She had often been told that the Dursleys liked nothing more than to be normal, but she had still expected their home to exude waves of intolerance and evil. "Is that his uncle?" she whispered under her breath. She had seen Vernon Dursely more than once, but she had never given him a hard looking-over.

"That's him," Sirius muttered, before raising his voice to its phoniest garrulous proportions. "Vernon Dursley!" He strode purposefully up to the man and grasped his arm in a handshake which might have been called overly firm. "I'm so glad to be able to shake your hand." _Wrenching it off your body would be even better._ "Are you the one responsible for that new line of drills? I was sure you were as soon as I heard about them. No one else could come up with something so perfect for a normal consumer."

"Well, it's a big company, but I did do my share," chuckled Harry's uncle, pleased at the praise even as he sought to discern the identity of his companion. Sirius swallowed a grin. Flattery would get him everywhere.

"I don't believe you've met my daughter. Isabelle. Isabelle, this is Vernon Dursley. The man I was telling you about in the car the other day."

"I wasn't really listening," Hermione sneered sullenly, staring at the ground less out of mock insolence than out of genuine fear that she would somehow betray her true identity. Two things happened simultaneously, though, which took her mind off of her acting skills. First, Sirius gave her a small, sharp kick as if telling her to behave herself, and second, she caught sight of a very familiar figure inside the house. "Oh," she corrected herself, raising her eyes to Vernon's so as not to stare at Harry. "The _drills_. Those really are wonderful. The kind of things _nice_ people use."

"That's right," Sirius continued pointedly. "They really are. And this is one of the men responsible for them." He glanced around. "Lovely garden." Feeling Vernon's eyes leave him, just for a moment, Sirius used another sharp kick to dislodge the rock that supported most of the structure of the slightly raised flower bed. Rocks and dirt collapsed in a miniature landslide. "I hope you intend to take this up with whomever did this for you."

"I do," growled Vernon, distracted from his confusion about Sirius by his always-barely-suppressed hatred of Harry. "BOY!"

Harry emerged from the house, not looking exactly sullen, but neither looking thrilled with his current situation.

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU DIDN'T DO THIS PROPERLY?" Vernon bellowed.

"Yes."

"YES? WELL?"

"I thought I did do it properly." Harry had not yet given Sirius or Hermione the slightest glance, although Hermione had forgotten herself and begun to gape at her friend openly.

"YOU'LL FIX IT! YOU'LL FIX IT NOW!" Harry nodded.

Sirius, meanwhile, nudged his pseudo-daughter. "Stop staring."

"But he's we-eird," whined Hermione without missing a beat.

"Let's pick up your books and get back to the hotel," the pretend parent patronized.

"I hate books!" Hermione snapped, unable to resist looking back at Harry to see if she had provoked a smile. She was disturbed to see that she had not. "It's bad enough that we have to read them in school. I don't want any during the summer. And I don't want to carry them. Make HIM carry them."

"He has work to do here. And I'm sure he isn't loaned out so cheaply." Sirius pulled a stack of twenty pound notes from his billfold. Hermione smiled, knowing that he and Professor Lupin had transfigured them from ordinary scraps of paper in spite of the regulations regarding such things; Vernon Dursley's eyes nearly sprang from his head at the sight of so much money bandied about so carelessly; and even Harry looked up with something akin to curiosity. Most importantly, as it happened, Dudley waddled from the steps, on which he had been perched since his father had begun to yell at Harry, to take a closer look.

"Dad, let him do it," Dudley said in a voice which exposed Hermione's whine as the amateur attempt that it was. "I hate it when he's around here, anyway. And nothing happened when he went to the pet store for Aunt Marge."

"Right you are, Dudley." A beefy hand clapped down on an equally beefy shoulder. "What do you ordinarily pay, Sir, for services he can provide?"

Sirius silently and casually held up several of his newly manufactured notes. Vernon grasped them quickly. "He'll be back this evening?" Sirius nodded. "Take him."

"Pleasure doing business with you." At last, Sirius was able to turn to Harry as if interested in him. "You. Come along."

The reverse effects of the disorienting spells helped Sirius and his companions to move quickly toward the bus stop. "Harry? Are you doing okay?" Sirius finally ventured once they had boarded the bus.

"Where are we going?" The question was met with a question.

"To a hotel. If you'd like, we can go somewhere else, but I wasn't sure you were up to actively doing anything. Some things are less safe than others, too."

"Don't I have to carry books?" Not the slightest amount of mirth found its way into the flat, young voice.

"You know you don't."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know anything."

Simultaneously sensing that a public bus was probably not the best place to have the discussions that needed to be had with Harry, Sirius and Hermione allowed the small party to lapse into silence until the hotel room had been reached. "Harry--" Hermione began, her eyes swimming with a concern that Harry decided he had seen directed at him far too many times.

"Yes, Mudblood?"

"What was that for?"

"That is what you are."

"It's not a nice word."

Harry inquired as to whether Hermione would prefer to be called by several names which she had occasionally heard Ron direct at Professor Snape but which she had never heard Harry say.

"No, I wouldn't. I prefer to be called 'Hermione.' And I think you'd prefer to call me 'Hermione,' so let's stick with that."

"Don't decide what I'd prefer," Harry snorted. "You always were a know-it-all."

"I know you aren't prejudiced against Muggle-borns. Your own mother was a Muggle-born, and besides, you aren't a narrow-minded, intolerant bigot."

"People change."

"Not like this. Not in the space of the one day it's been since I talked to you."

Harry eyed her critically. "You're right. I've always been this way." He held up a hand to stave off her protest. "Want to know a secret? Something I never told anyone but Dumbledore?"

"Okay."

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin." He mimicked the hat as best as he could. "_You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that._ But I begged and begged, and the Hat put me in Gryffindor. See, Mudblood? The Hat was wrong."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "The Hat _was_ wrong," she said in a slightly quavering voice. "It was wrong to think you would do well in Slytherin. You might be ambitious, and that's not bad, but you just don't sound mean enough to be a Slytherin, really. Remember the first time Draco Malfoy called me that, and neither one of us knew what he meant, but we both knew it was really bad, not just because Ron tried to hex him, but because of the way he said it? You can't say it like that. You say it like you don't want to. You _aren't_ a Slytherin, not in attitude, and I'm not stupid enough to believe that you are!"

Hermione's speech ended on a vehement note, but she still looked close to tears. Deciding that watching Hermione cry would further confuse Harry's already twisted emotions, Sirius took her hand and led her to the door. "Go down to the lobby. Find something to spend this on. I don't care what. Come up in ten minutes." He handed her a random assortment of coins, opting not to send his contraband into direct circulation, and ushered her outside.

When Sirius turned back to his godson, Harry was sitting almost regally in the middle of a bed, as if daring Sirius to pick up where Hermione had left off.

The dare was accepted.

"So, Harry," he began, settling down near his godson without attempting to touch him, "have you become a Death Eater?"

Sirius' earnest glare seemed to weaken Harry's resistance almost immediately, for he found himself replying "Of course not."

"That's good to hear. It doesn't matter all that much, but it's nice to have people agree with you politically, don't you think?"

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"Well, it doesn't matter from my point of view. I'd still protect you, like you, love you, if you were a Death Eater." He managed to hold Harry's gaze for a moment.

"That can't be true," Harry broke in at last.

"Why not?"

"I get you in enough trouble without trying to do anything wrong. Come on, Sirius, weren't you supposed to be one of the cleverest students Hogwarts has ever seen?"

"I think my reputation has been greatly exaggerated there. People love to say things like that about wizards who get themselves thrown in Azkaban."

"You did an Animangus transformation when you were fifteen. You wrote the Marauder's Map. You must be smart enough to realize that if I weren't in your life you could have spent the last year nice and safe and happy on whatever tropical island those birds came from instead of hiding in a cave with no heat, no water, and no food."

"Harry, if I had spent the last year nice and safe on a tropical island instead of hiding in a cave with enough heat, enough water, and enough food, I might as well have tracked down a dementor and asked it to suck my soul. I couldn't be happy without anyone to care about. That isn't living. I can't take care of you as well as I want to and I hope you forgive me for that, but my _wanting_ to take care of you helped me get out of Azkaban and stay alive on the run."

"There are other people you care about. You care about Professor Lupin."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"He never put you in danger by ending up in a Triwizard tournament and getting stalked by Death Eaters."

"I'll give you the Triwizard Tournament. I promise you the Death Eaters have made it very clear in their own ugly way that they know he's not on their side. And he did get into all kinds of trouble when he was your age, mostly because of lycanthropy. That's something he can't control any more than you can control being the Boy Who Lived. I can't measure the things I did with him or for him against the things he did with me or for me or against what I'll do with you or for you. I risk everything for people I care for, whether they ask for it or not. You should understand that. You do the same thing. You do remember saving my life the first time you met me?"

"Oh, that."

"Oh, that. It was a pretty big deal to me, Harry."

"Anyone would have. Besides, I had Hermione. She helped."

"First of all, anyone wouldn't have. Second of all, you did have Hermione, and Ron, and I expect you always will. The same way you'll always have me."

Harry's eyes met Sirius' once more, and he knew that Sirius had uncovered his plan. "How did you know?"

Sirius smiled, not a smile that hit his eyes, but a genuine smile nonetheless. "You're smart, and you're clever, and you're brave, and you're loyal, and you're patient, and you're more wonderful things than I can name-- but you are not subtle, Harry. You also aren't the first person who's ever gotten the idea that the best way to protect the people you love is to stay away from them."

"What _is_ the best way to protect them?" Harry hated his voice for cracking. He didn't want Sirius to change his mind about putting "brave" in that list.

"I think you've been doing all right." Harry bit his lip with as much _subtlety_ as he could muster to keep it from trembling. "I know it's hard." Sirius' voice had grown low enough that Harry would not have been able to hear it had they not been inches apart. "I know it's hard enough for you to live with your aunt and uncle part of the year and to be expected to be the figurehead in a war for the rest of the year. It's hard enough without your worrying about being a danger to your friends. It's hard enough without your watching Cedric Diggory die. But that wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault." He paused until he was sure that his words were sinking into Harry. "Okay?"

Harry nodded, no longer trusting his voice but trying to mold his expression into one that suggested that Sirius was silly for thinking that Harry needed to hear all of this. Sirius half-extended his arm as if to hug Harry, and Harry surprised them both by returning the hug in full force. Sirius was still murmuring that Cedric's death hadn't been Harry's fault.

"That's what Mrs. Weasley said at the time, in the hospital wing," Harry finally returned against Sirius' shoulder. "After you left."

"I shouldn't have left you so quickly--"

"No, I know you had to. I understood."

"You shouldn't have had to understand." Harry shrugged, using the movement as an excuse to turn away from Sirius slightly lest Sirius get the mistaken idea that he was crying. "I'm glad she was there, then." This time Harry nodded, and belatedly realized that Sirius' behavior just now had greatly mimicked Ron's mother's behavior on the day of Cedric's death. His reaction was much the same, too. Hadn't he grown up at all over the time that had passed since that day? He twisted away once more, but Sirius was still holding him, not just sitting next to him, but really holding him. "It's okay."

"No, it's not!"

"Not everything is. But it's okay that you don't feel thrilled and happy with your current lot in life. It's okay if you're sad, or angry, or nervous, or scared."

"I'm fine."

"You don't have to be."

Suddenly, the sarcasm that the Dursleys had celebrated the disappearance of returned to Harry. "Okay. I don't want to go back to the Dursleys. Wow, saying that changed everything."

"You won't be there all summer. I know you told Hermione you wanted to stay there. Now that we know you don't, you don't have to. I'd say that counts as changing something." Harry rolled his eyes, which, to his immense relief, had dried out. "Right. Go wash your face and get ready to apologize to Hermione."

Harry's stomach lurched. "Do you think she'll ever speak to me again?"

"I think she'll speak to you as soon as she gets back up here."

Sirius watched as Harry awaited his friend's return, quite obviously composing an apology in his head. Sirius had less of a frame of reference than he would have liked, but he still felt that Harry seemed too subdued. He was functioning, but that was not much of a consolation.

Hermione knocked gently on the door just then, and Harry went to open it, offering apologies which she brushed off as unnecessary. She had calmed down almost as much as he had. "What were you doing down there?" he asked, feeling that it was his turn to attempt to make conversation.

"Looking at the videos the store next door has in the window."

"Anything good?"

"They're having some special children's festival because it's summer. They had a lot of animated things," she started to ramble, happy that Harry was talking to her with some semblance of his usual self, "like that one about Princess Anastasia. You know, it has nothing to do with the history. Rasputin sells his soul and kills her whole family but loses his power because he can't kill her so he uses his minions to track her down and-- oh my God!" She suddenly looked like she might flee the room, but she unwillingly allowed Harry's eye to catch her own. "What?"

"Go on. How does she defeat Rasputin?"

"Steps on the rod his power is in, I think. It's been a while."

"I'll keep that in mind." Their eyes met once more, and suddenly they collapsed to the floor as one, shaken by gales of nearly-hysterical laughter.

The strained mood had broken, and the rest of the day became an exercise in the wasting of time. A feeling of mild euphoria surrounded them in a cloud as they returned to Privet Drive. "I'll see you soon, Harry," Sirius said, as they reached the door. Hermione, much to her chagrin, had had to adopt her spoiled-daughter persona once more and could not hug Harry good-bye, or even look at him. Half-resentfully, she left with Sirius without turning back.

If she had turned back, she might have noticed the angered look on Petunia Dursley's face as she scolded her husband and remarked that he had been tricked, that Harry knew the people who had visited them-- how many fifteen-year-old girls had hair that looked like it should be used to clean a toilet bowl? She might even have heard Vernon's promise to refuse to allow Harry out of his room for the duration of the summer.

As it was, though, she simply began to apologize to Sirius for not being more useful over the course of the day.

"You were great. What are you sorry for?"

"For staring at him when we first got to his house. For not being better at talking to him, or being smart enough to leave you alone with him without being told. For practically crying. For bringing up that video."

"He seemed to think that was funny."

"Still."

"Still, nothing. Things don't have to be perfect. There weren't any major disasters today, and that's all we could really want." A second later, Hermione realized that he had spoken too quickly. While passing through a train station, the two had inadvertently strayed too close to a wizarding platform. After a sudden shout, she saw the wand of Professor Sprout pointing directly at Sirius' heart.


	4. Discussion

**Part 4: Discussion**

Hermione, the cool, calm, collected, mature, thinking young woman that she was, knowing that she should not draw attention to the situation, began to scream.

"Hermione!" hissed her professor and Sirius with such unity that it would have been comical if it had not been so important. "Calm down. It's okay."

"Wait, Professor Sprout," she began earnestly and slightly breathlessly, "You can't do this."

"Hermione, do you know who this man is? Step away."

"He's Sirius Black, but he's not guilty." Instead of stepping away, she stepped closer to Sirius.

"This is not the time to begin disobeying your professors!"

"She's right, Hermione," Sirius agreed, gently detaching her arm from his own. "Future head girls don't hang around with convicted criminals."

"You didn't even have a trial!"

"Step away from him," Professor Sprout repeated.

"Do it," Sirius added. "She's not going to Avada Kedavra me on the spot."

"Tempting though it may be," the woman completed.

As Hermione reluctantly backed away, Sirius urgently requested "Talk to Dumbledore before you talk to anyone else."

"Why should I? You were obviously using Hermione to get to Harry Potter."

"I don't deny it, but not in the way that you think. It can't hurt anything for you to contact Dumbledore."

"Give me your wand."

Sirius gave it to her.

"Give me your knife."

"I forgot it."

She glared at him.

"Really. I left it lying on a bedside table."

"So do they rent houses to Azkaban escapees these days or did you just get rid of the rightful inhabitants?"

"I'm an invited guest. I'd rather not incriminate the owner."

"Who would harbor you?"

Annoyance began to find its way into Sirius' voice. "You could probably guess if you tried really, really hard, but whether or not I'm dangerous, this stalling isn't the best idea."

"You may be right." Sirius snorted in response and was somewhat gratified to see Hermione roll her eyes. "Into that pub. Slowly. There's a fire in the back room that we can use. Hermione…"

"Yes?" she asked with all the innocence she could muster.

"Can you get home by Muggle transport?"

She made a face. "It'll take a while, but yes."

"Stay here for five minutes," Sirius broke in. "You know what Dumbledore will say, and then I'll Apparate you back."

"You're going to Apparate a fourteen-year-old?" Professor Sprout cried in disgust.

"She's fifteen, she's almost a year older than Harry," Sirius defended, but Professor Sprout did not seem to be impressed.

"That makes no difference." She pointed at the pub once more. "Go on."

Sirius obeyed, and was greatly relieved to find that the pub was almost entirely empty. When he was clean shaven with cut hair and wearing clean Muggle clothing, he was unlikely to be recognized by anyone who had never known him personally. Most people who _had_ known him personally, would, he hoped, allow him to explain himself.

"Sit," Professor Sprout commanded, pointing at a hard-backed chair. Sirius sat, wondering why this made him less threatening if she didn't intend to bind him, which she apparently did not. She was too busy using the fire to communicate with Albus Dumbledore. "Dumbledore? Sirius Black is here with me," she began before he could even ask to what he owed the pleasure of her call.

"Oh. You were wise to contact me first. I trust you are contacting me first?"

"He suggested it in a way that made it hard to refuse."

Dumbledore nodded. "I take it he's claiming to be innocent?"

"He is."

"He's speaking the truth."

"Were you planning on telling me?" An edge had crept into her voice.

"Yes, yes. It didn't seem necessary as of yet, and it was rather unbelievable. We are in the process of gathering evidence to support his story. As a matter of fact," he raised his voice, "Sirius is supposed to be lying low right now so as not to damage his case. I trust you have an interesting excuse, Sirius?"

"He also had Hermione Granger with him," added Professor Sprout, seeming grateful that Sirius had at least done _something_ wrong.

"Was she upset?"

"They seemed very familiar."

"I imagine they would be. Do you have any urgent business to attend to?"

"No."

"Then do me the favor of escorting Miss Granger home and allowing me to speak to Sirius for a moment." She nodded curtly and Sirius left his chair to kneel before the fire. "What have you been doing, Sirius?"

Deciding that honesty was the best policy in this case, Sirius admitted "I went to check on Harry."

"He's perfectly safe with his aunt and uncle, as I'm sure you found out and as I could have told you. As I, in fact, did tell you." Sirius opened his mouth to justify himself, but Dumbledore held up a warning hand. "Not only did you put the spells in place to protect him in jeopardy, you put your own case in jeopardy. What if someone other than Professor Sprout had recognized you?"

"It was a risk worth taking."

"What could possibly make you say that?"

"Those people are the worst excuses for Muggles I have ever had the misfortune to meet. They treat him like he's worse than nothing. And he's a tough kid, he handles it very well, but on top of the Voldemort situation and everything that happened with Cedric Diggory it's too much to ask of anyone. He needed more than a pat on the head and a promise that he could come back to Hogwarts for the next term. He needs reassurance, Dumbledore! He needs a parent."

"He's never said as much."

"What teenager would?"

"You may have a point, but Harry's is a special situation. His aunt and uncle are not the ultimate parental figures for him, but he has food and shelter and clothing. More importantly, he has the protection of blood ties."

"So we should just keep him breathing, and to hell with his _quality_ of life?"

"We need to prioritize."

"He is my priority. Nothing else matters compared to him."

Dumbledore's usually friendly voice had hardened. "You cannot compare the happiness of one child to the future of light magic."

"If I can't, then who can? He needs someone on his side." Sirius' voice had begun to rise. "I mean, exclusively on his side. He's not a pawn, Dumbledore! He's a person! He's a child! He's a child who has been through an incredible ordeal and who needs to see on a regular basis that people love him. I'm not saying that one person is more important than the entire good fight, but he matters in and of himself, not just because he's the Boy Who Lived. Giving him a little break isn't going to mean handing control of the universe over to Voldemort. He'll probably even be of more use in defeating Voldemort if he's allowed to recover between battles. 'Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart,' and all that."

Dumbledore was quite obviously unmoved. "Irish poetry aside, you are not to interfere with Harry Potter again until I specifically give you permission. That goes for Remus as well. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very clear," replied Sirius, voice full of real or fake contrition.

"Good. Now, as long as you're here, I have some other things to discuss with you."

"Yes?"

"I presume that while you and Remus were plotting to get around the various wards protecting Harry's house, he managed to find time to tell you that proving your innocence has become an absolute necessity for the safety of the wizarding world?"

"He mentioned that, yes."

"We have four parts to our plan. You're willing to be interrogated under veritaserum?"

"Of course."

"I guessed as much. That should provide some evidence in our favor. Arthur Weasley-- he's Ron's father-- has looked into some Muggle techniques that involve pinpointing the source of explosions. They may carry weight with some members of the ministry, especially since the destruction of the street was so well-documented. There are a great many photographic records to work with. More importantly, the Muggle police have a large amount of faith in these methods, and since they have been looking for you as well, their opinions are not irrelevant."

"That sounds good."

"We think so. We'll also need proof that Peter Pettigrew is an Animangus, preferably without revealing any of our spies. Do you have anything that might help us?"

Sirius nodded eagerly. "Photographs that show him transforming. They're locked in my Gringotts vault with the things I pulled out of the wreckage of James' house for Harry." He made a face filled with self-loathing. "Of all the things I could have been thinking clearly enough to do, or not do…"

"It's certainly better than nothing. And you've certainly suffered enough without contemplating what you should or shouldn't have done a decade and a half ago." Sirius shrugged helplessly. "Now, finally, we need your original wand."

"I assume it was snapped."

"It was not. The murder weapon in a case so important is held in safekeeping for an indeterminate period of time. It is still available, and our friend Mr. Olivander tells me that it has several brothers out there."

"So priori incantantem could be used?" Sirius asked, remembering Harry's most recent experience with Voldemort.

"Exactly. The ordinary spell wouldn't convince the doubters because they could claim that you'd used a harmless spell after using the killing curse. But if we have your wand's brother, we can regurgitate every spell you ever cast." Sirius nodded. "The problem is that, as I said, the time that a weapon needs to be preserved as evidence varies."

Sirius groaned. "And Cornelius Fudge would like to get rid of it right now."

"Indeed he would."

"Do they have Wormtail's wand?"

"No. I imagine he made certain it was destroyed."

"I thought he did."

"This is why time is of the utmost importance. This is why you have to be especially careful for a few months. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear."

"Good. Has Professor Sprout returned?" Sirius twisted from his position by the fire and found that she had. In fact, it seemed that she had been observing them for some time. Horror, pity, anger, and fascination all warred for possession of her face.

"She's right here."

"If she would come talk to me for a moment, you may leave. Be certain to share this information with Remus."

"I will."

"Have a safe trip, then. Now, Professor Sprout, I trust that you have been discussing the new shrubs we've placed by the edge of the forest with me all this time, and you haven't run into any infamous fugitives?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Sirius heard her reply in a voice thick with emotion before he Disapparated.

Instantly, Sirius appeared just outside Remus' home. Remus probably did not need anti-Apparition spells to protect himself, but one could never be too careful when one was dealing with rowdy Death Eaters. That was especially when one was a known werewolf harboring a fugitive.

After choosing to hastily disable the other wards surrounding the house before walking inside this time, Sirius looked around for signs of his friend. He did not have to look far.

"How's Harry?"

Sirius shook his head, his conversation with Dumbledore still spinning in his mind.

"What? He's not all right?" Remus continued with more urgency.

"No, it's not that. He's not the happiest he's ever been. He's doing better. We need to talk about that, too. It's just that there was a little incident when I was taking Hermione home a few minutes ago." The two took seats facing each other across the kitchen table, Sirius sitting backwards on his chair and the dim light playing across both of their concerned faces.

"What kind of incident?"

"An incident involving Professor Sprout pointing her wand at my heart."

"And?"

"And she decided not to kill me. I talked her into telling Dumbledore before she told the nearest team of hit wizards. He gave me some stupid lecture about how Harry's happiness isn't important as long as he's alive to make the Death Eaters nervous, and then he gave me details about proving that I didn't murder Wormtail or anybody else." With that, Sirius repeated all that he had learned from the Hogwarts headmaster.

Remus nodded his understanding, but said "Can we back up a minute?"

"What for?"

"What did he really say about Harry? I'd lay odds that he didn't say his happiness isn't important as long as he's alive."

"Not in so many words, not, but as far as I'm concerned that was the gist."

"Would you mind recalling his actual words?"

"That I couldn't compare one child's happiness to the future of light magic. Then he ordered me not to interfere with Harry again unless I had permission." Sirius snorted in a doglike manner unique to him. "As if he could stop me."

"I would hope he has some control over you."

"You want to leave Harry there?"

"No. But the fact remains that Albus Dumbledore is the only reason either of us is a fully trained wizard. No one else would have let me into school and no one else would have kept you in school."

"Don't you believe that the responsibilities of a fully trained wizard include thinking for yourself?"

"That's why I'm not agreeing with you blindly."

"But you are agreeing with me."

"I'm not sure."

"What else do you need?"

"I want to know what happened with Harry." Sirius explained, barely embellishing the tale at all. By the time he finished, he was sure that Remus agreed with him, even if Remus didn't know it yet. "Well," Remus began slowly, "most of the evidence in your favor will still be around at the end of the summer."

"The wand is the problem."

"The wand is the problem. It's a shame we can't take that into our own custody and keep it safe." A golden light began to fill Remus' eyes, and the not-entirely-familiar feeling of hope wrapped itself around Sirius is response. He knew that look. That had been the look that had made his day more than once when he had been about Harry's age.

"You wouldn't."

"I think I would. If you're willing."

"I'm willing, but I don't know that it's possible. Breaking into a Ministry storage facility? A storage facility for criminal evidence, no less?"

"What, Padfoot? Lost your sense of adventure?"

"My sense of adventure is more than intact. My sense of realism has grown over the past few years."

"Then realize this: the Ministry of Magic is incompetent in more ways than allowing itself to be led by Fudge."

"You really think it's possible?" Sirius could feel his own eyes brightening to match his friend's.

"Absolutely."

"So I get to have my cake and eat it too, and I get my wand back!"

"That's what I'm hoping."

"I love that wand."

"I know."

"This one is good, but it doesn't match me perfectly. I mean, I'm incredibly grateful to you for getting it for me."

"You said 'thank you' before. More than once. You don't have to say it again."

Sirius smiled. "Okay, I won't. But you never did tell me how you got it."

"The usual way. It came from Olivander's."

"But you don't have--" Sirius cut himself off, and tried to correct himself before he insulted his friend. Luckily, Remus just laughed.

"You mean that wands are expensive? We set up a trade in this case."

"What kind?"

"Apparently, someone in the Triwizard Tournament used a wand with the hair of a veela in it?"

"Fleur Delacour." Sirius let the rhyming name roll off his tongue just for the fun of it.

"What a name. Anyway, to demonstrate the vast superiority of dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, and unicorn hair wand cores, Mr. Olivander decided to make a series of wands from other materials so his customers could try them out and see how temperamental or unpredictable they could be."

"He didn't try to use--"

Remus nodded smugly. "Werewolf hair. It obviously has to be taken while the wolf is in wolf form."

"It sounds an awful lot like selling body parts."

"I'm not crazy about those particular body parts, anyway. And I got wolfsbane potion and that wand out of the deal."

Sirius stared at Remus for a moment. "You're a very good friend, Moony."

"I know." Sirius rolled his eyes. "So are you."

"Since we're both such good friends--" Sirius' temporary inability to properly finish a sentence was beginning to concern him.

"What?"

"Why does it feel like we should still be living in the same dormitory half the time and like we've never met the rest of the time?"

"I'd think that would be obvious. We were very close friends for a long time, and then we didn't see each other, not by choice, for an even longer time. We know virtually everything about each other if it happened before the first downfall of Voldemort, and virtually nothing about what's happened to each other since."

"You know what happened to me. I was imprisoned. I was tortured. I escaped."

"Oh, that makes me understand you completely."

"You wouldn't want to understand me completely. My mind is a scary place."

"I don't doubt it. But it used to be, not that you never surprised me, but that I knew when you would surprise me and how, if that makes any sense."

"It does. So, now that it's been brought up, tell me what you did while I was gone."

"Did a lot of random work. Traveled a lot. The most memorable part was the year at Hogwarts."

"Not the vampire girlfriend?"

"That was an exaggeration." Sirius raised an eyebrow playfully. "We were friends, that's all. I was spending some time in Ireland because a shipment of erklings was broken into and there was Ministry concern about introducing a wild population. The prices on their heads were amazing-- twice as much if you could bring them in alive. She'd been involved in the original exchange and we met while I was playing bounty hunter."

"All right, I'll believe that. That's one more thing I know about you."

"Happy now?"

"NO!" Sirius startled himself by exploding. The strain of the past day-- or was it the past year, or decade?-- was suddenly hitting him hard. Remus looked justifiably taken aback, and the rational corner of Sirius' mind was telling him to calm down, but the rational corner was not in control. "When are you going to ask?"

"Ask what?" The question was answered with a question. Remus seemed unsure as to whether he was insulted or worried about Sirius' mental state.

"_Ask what_. Ask the question you've wanted to ask me since that night in the Shrieking Shack. Bring up the real reason that it doesn't exactly feel like we're friends. Point out why it's strange that you're willing to risk yourself for me by having me here or by hunting down my wand."

Remus stood up. "Excuse me. Let me go see if there's a crystal ball in the basement so I can figure out what the hell you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't become you."

"I'm not playing at anything. If anyone's playing, it's you."

"Do I look like I'm playing?"

"No. But you aren't making any sense."

"I know you know what I'm talking about," Sirius argued, sounding irrational even to his own ears.

Luckily, the patience that was one of Remus' strongest character traits had not yet worn out. "Indulge me and remind me."

"Ask me why I thought you were the spy. And then forgive me."

"I forgave you as soon I found out what happened. I even told you so."

"You were being flip."

"I wouldn't be flip about this. I admit that I wondered why, but I wasn't going to ask because I don't want to drag those thoughts up for you, because I do care about you and I do forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. Have I acted like I haven't?"

"No."

"Do you want me to ask? I guess you do. Fine." Remus threw himself back into his chair with no small amount of theatricality. "What made you think I would sell Lily and James to Voldemort? And did they think I would?"

"I don't even know. I should. It's the one thing I've thought about most over the past year, except for thinking about whether Harry would live to see his next birthday. I would have thought about it when I was in prison, too, but I was busy feeling miserable about myself and gathering up my energy to transform."

"Maybe you should stop harping on it, then," Remus answered as gently as he could, feeling mildly hypocritical because the most selfish, most uncaring, most twisted fraction of his mind was happy that Sirius felt guilty for thinking the worst of him. He quickly forced that thankfully infinitesimal fraction to crawl back under its rock.

"I can't."

"Then tell me what you do know."

"Some of it was that you were more complicated than Peter. Deeper. More likely to know what you had to gain if you became a Death Eater. More likely to be recruited. It's not because you're a werewolf. Not per se. There are things I'm not above, but that isn't one of them."

"Not because I'm a werewolf per se. But something, or somethings, in connection with lycanthropy?"

"It's something you hate. It's something you hate about yourself, and when you hate something about yourself, that's a weakness that's easy to exploit."

"That's fair. It probably is what happened with Peter. He hated that he didn't feel as talented, or as popular, or as brave as his friends." Seeing that Sirius' expression had become genuinely murderous, Remus felt the need to add "I'm not justifying him. I'm not even forgiving him. I'm just saying that that part of your reasoning was sound. As it happens, if Lord Voldemort knocked on my door and said he'd cure my werewolfism for one piece of information, even if he just wanted directions to Gladrags Wizardwear, I'd pull out my wand and try to kill him while I had him there. But you didn't have any way of knowing which of your friends didn't feel that way. You knew they all should, and you knew that one didn't, or couldn't. So you guessed, and you guessed wrong. That's not an unforgivable sin. It's not a sin at all."

"Why do you forgive me, and not Wormtail?"

"For starters, you didn't kill anyone."

"I might as well have pointed my wand at James and Lily and shoved Harry in that cupboard under his uncle's stairs."

"That's not true. You didn't have the intent to harm, and that goes a long way. You didn't make the obvious decision and remain as secret keeper or let Dumbledore do it. You didn't think that sometimes the obvious decision is obvious for a reason. But you've learned, and Wormtail hasn't. He knows he was wrong and he understands the ramifications of his actions but he goes ahead and bleeds Harry to bring rise to another age of darkness. I could have forgiven him for turning dark. I could have understood that even if I didn't agree. You were right, the Death Eaters recruited me. They recruited me hard. It was frightening, and it bothered me, and I was afraid to tell you because I didn't want to seem bothered, especially considering what James was going through."

"I killed James and Lily and it's okay because I didn't do it on purpose and I wouldn't do it again?"

"I feel that way, Harry feels that way, and James and Lily would feel that way. Aside from that, you are neither Voldemort nor Peter Pettigrew. This wasn't your fault, Sirius. Not any more than Cedric's death was Harry's fault."

"I told James to switch secret keepers."

"He told Cedric to take the cup."

"Cedric wasn't counting on Harry to keep him safe."

"So? That doesn't mean Harry wouldn't have done what he could to protect Cedric if he'd known what was going on. You're making irrelevant distinctions."

"It's not irrelevant. I mistreated everyone I cared about in the space of two days. I all but accused you of being a Death Eater, I made a mistake that ended James' life, and I took off after Peter instead of staying around for Harry."

"Not only am I under the impression that you went after Peter after failing to convince Hagrid to let you take Harry?" Sirius nodded miserably. "But you had just seen the complete destruction of your best friend's house and the corpses of two people you cared about very deeply. That gets chalked up to temporary insanity, I think."

"That's no excuse."

"It's a damn good explanation."

"I very clearly decided to go and kill Peter. I wasn't irrational."

"Have you ever seen the picture of yourself after the street blew up? The one of you laughing? It's not the laugh of a sane person." Sirius had stopped arguing. "You made a mistake. Maybe even two. But you've been punished in ways that no one ever deserves to be punished for a mistake."

"I want to believe you."

"Give it a try."

"It isn't right. I don't deserve that peace of mind. I want it because I don't know if I can give Harry the comfort he needs without feeling comforted myself."

"Oh, Padfoot. Padfoot, you deserve it. You do. Would I lie?" Sirius shook his head numbly, seemingly out of words. "Try to relax, would you? We have to break and enter later tonight, and I don't want you distracted." He rose from his chair to give Sirius his space, but Sirius called him back. It had been silly, really, to think that this man could ever run out of words for more than a second or two.

"Let me finish answering."

"Go on."

"You asked if James and Lily thought you betrayed them. They didn't. James thought I was crackers. That was his exact word. Lily asked him not to make the switch, not because the idea of Peter as the secret keeper made her uncomfortable but because the suggestion came from someone who suspected that you were dark. She came around, though, he wouldn't have done it if she hadn't. And I'm not just saying this. If they had agreed with me, I'd have told you I convinced them. But I do accept that you deserve better than to be lied to."

Remus grasped the back of his recently vacated chair with one hand. "I had no idea how much I needed to hear that."

"I knew you did. I didn't tell you to ask what they believed, just why I believed what I did."

"I meant what I said about calming down," Remus repeated, deliberately breaking off the line of conversation. "I'll be in my room."

Back in his room, somewhat overwhelmed by the magnitude of the conversation he had just had, Remus idly noticed that there were tears on his cheeks before collapsing onto his bed. He expected to sit and think, as Sirius probably would, but instead, inexplicably, found himself falling asleep and beginning to dream.

**Auxiliary Disclaimer**: _Early in this chapter, Sirius quotes William Butler Yeats' poem "Easter, 1916."_


	5. The Funeral

**Part 5: The Funeral**

When morning dawned, the sky was fittingly gray, and the grass was fittingly bowed beneath what was either an especially heavy frost or a light dusting of snow. _No light, no heat, no life, November_, Remus thought irrationally, uncertain as to why the old quip had traipsed into his mind as he walked toward the church. It was the same one at which he had attended a baptism almost exactly a year earlier.

Remus cringed as he thought of Sirius, blithely promising on behalf of one Harry James Potter to "strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being."

Indeed. A more honest-- not that any Death Eater had ever cared about honesty-- oath might have been to "strive for the anarchy which would surely result should Lord Voldemort come to power and attempt to deprive everyone who does not agree with me not only of a voice but of life itself, no matter if they're my best friends." The irony of a child's godfather causing his parents' brutal deaths rang loudly and dizzily in Remus' ears as he reached the church's front door. He nearly swayed on his feet when a young man, even younger than Remus himself, caught the arm of his dark, black robe.

"He's all right. Don't bother with ID," called an authoritative voice, one he recognized as belonging to Cornelius Fudge, a junior Ministry of Magic official who had been present as Remus' interrogation two days earlier.

_How long have you known Lily and James Potter? What was your relationship to them? To Sirius Black? Was Sirius Black the Potters' Secret Keeper? Did you have reason to suspect his alliance with You-Know-Who? Did he ever behave in a suspicious manner? When did you last see him? When did you last see the Potters alive? What did he say about his role in protecting them? Did he seem eager?_

"But Dumbledore said--" the younger man began to protest.

"Dumbledore won't be happy if you give him trouble. Trust me."

Still not entirely sure as to what was going on, but wanting to deliver his detainer from the arrogant lecturing of Fudge, Remus pulled out an identification card and placed it in the hand that had just relinquished its grip on his sleeve.

"He's okay," the man said, sounding at once frightened and relieved.

"As I was saying," Fudge continued more pompously than ever.

"Why are you checking identification at a funeral?" Remus cut in, finally finding his voice. Voldemort was, if not dead, at least weakened to the point that no one was in danger. Precautions of this magnitude hardly seemed necessary even if there did happen to be a large number of powerful, active wizards and witches present in one small space.

"Dumbledore's orders," the guard replied smoothly. "They want the service to be private. But everyone out there wants to say good-bye, and thank you. Give them a real martyr's sendoff. They were afraid people would try to sneak in and see the bodies, even, even though it said in the papers that the caskets would be closed, and everyone knows that that's always what they do when it's Avada Kedavra, and this time the whole house blew up--"

"SEAN!" Fudge forcefully cut off the nervous ramblings. "HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" Then he turned to Remus, and his voice hovered between repulsive distaste and equally repulsive smarminess. "Just go inside. It's horrible out here." A firm hand placed itself on Remus' shoulder in an unaffectionate half-caress, and Remus obediently left the entryway.

He did not, however, go directly inside. Instead, he sought a window in the lobby and stared out at the throng through which he had just walked unthinkingly. It now seemed as if the surrounding streets were filled with crowds of wizards and witches, many crying, a few laughing, most bearing flowers. How had he made it to the church unaware? Had people recognized him as James and Lily's friend, perhaps from a Daily Prophet article, and simply let him pass? Had the signs of his most recent transformation marked him as a werewolf and prompted the crowd to give him a wide berth? Had he forced his way through them without knowing what he did? This last seemed at once unlikely, because the war of the past few years had taught him nothing if not to remain constantly aware of his surroundings; and likely, because although he had decided to walk all the way from his home to the church he remembered nothing of the journey.

The mood inside the sanctuary was indeed more subdued than the mood outside. Heads were hung low, eyes were red-rimmed, and voices were kept to quiet whispers as the group mourned the loss of a woman and a man instead of celebrating the victory of their shared cause.

Even the children present were quiet, as if they understood the gravity of the situation. A little girl whose name Remus did not know stood transfixed, staring at the coffins, until her mother pulled her away to sit down. Frank Longbottom-- it was somewhat surprising to see an auror of that magnitude here when so many Death Eaters needed tracking down, but Frank _had_ known James and Lily-- held his son Neville, who was no older than Harry, tightly, and the child did not object, choosing instead to look around with solemn eyes.

The silence was broken by a squawk. "MINE!" said a babyish voice, quite clearly. It was not Neville, who remained calm and who probably was not (Remus sneered to himself) a brat. His head snapped toward the distraction, but his annoyance fell away with a thud when he became aware of its source. The man and the woman were quite obviously Muggles, and if he thought back to the handful of times he had seen Lily's family waiting near the Hogwarts Express, he could recognize the woman as her sister. The blond, squalling boy must be Lily's nephew, then; and if he was there, _Harry_ was there.

Remus strode quickly across the church, not bothering to decide what to say when he reached his destination, not even bothering to wrack his mind for the woman's name. Frantically, he assumed that the words would come naturally when he opened his mouth.

He stopped suddenly when could see the small family clearly. Had he not known for a fact that Harry and the other boy were mere weeks apart in age, he never would have guessed. The blond boy, the one who had yelled, was nearly twice Harry's size. Harry had never looked scrawny before; he had looked like a happy, healthy, well-loved baby with impossibly adorable green eyes and messy black hair. Now, though, next to his fat, blond cousin, he looked reedy and sickly, as if he had led quite a difficult life for the past fifteen months-- in truth, of course, he had. The half-healed cut on his forehead bore testimony to that. The two were seated side-by-side in a twin stroller, and the blond had just snatched the blanket that covered Harry away. Now he was methodically poking the smaller child, as if seeing what would produce the loudest, most pained reaction.

Thus far, Harry had been very patient, and Remus was quite surprised. Neither James nor Lily would have let such torment go this far without reaching for a wand-- not that a toddler _could_ reach for a wand-- still, Harry had not accidentally magicked himself out of his cousin's reach. Did the Muggles know that such behavior was a risk? Weren't they going to stop their son's spiteful little game?

A finger in one big, green eye at last drew a cry from Harry and action from his aunt. Her hand swiftly parted the cousins' interlaced arms and she coolly reprimanded "Harry, don't touch Dudley."

_Dudley?_ Remus wondered in awe._How aptly named._

Dudley was now pouting, causing his mother to reach for him comfortingly, pulling his already substantial weight from the stroller. "I know, Duddykins," she crooned. "If that nosy Mary Ann Hopkins hadn't seen my sister's obituary, we wouldn't have to be here, but we can't have people saying we didn't go. Of course, if she hadn't married that man and gotten herself killed--"

Rage rose in the chest of their observer, rage of the kind he ordinarily felt just once a month, and even then only if provoked. One part of his mind was repeating, mantra-like, that people mourned in different ways, and the poor woman was probably in shock, but the more cynical parts of his mind remained unconvinced. He had heard too many stories from Lily over the decade or so he had known her not to suspect that this woman was as bad as she seemed.

Words came floating back to him as in a dream. _Petunia stole my biting teacups, I can't figure out what she did with them . . . Another summer of Petunia calling me a freak . . . She didn't invite me to her own wedding . . . _Lily. Lily's voice, that he'd never hear again.

Suddenly, brutally aware that he could not carry on a conversation with these people, be they Harry's only living relatives or not, he began to turn away, stopping only when he was called by name.

"Moony."

That was an appellation he had not expected to hear again. Everyone who had used it was dead or, in the case of Sirius, worse than dead.

"Moony." Again. The voice was child-like and purely innocent. Harry's saucer-like eyes were fixed upon him and he extended one small arm in an indescribably beseeching gesture. Remus locked his gaze with that of the child and returned to his original plan.

_He doesn't even know ten words, not even ten words, but one of them's 'Moony.' Of course, one of them's also 'Padfoot,' not that he could say it quite right the last time I heard him try… more like 'Pafooh'… he'll never need it now… won't need 'Mama' or 'Dada' either…_

"What is he saying?" the woman he now remembered as Petunia demanded sharply of her husband.

"He's saying 'Moony,'" Remus answered quickly. "It's what Lily and James called me." Petunia looked up in thinly veiled disgust. "We were friends. I'm sorry for your loss." She grunted something which he could almost believe was a thank you. He wondered if he should offer to shake their hands, but, deciding that he would almost surely be rebuffed, forged ahead verbally. "Is it all right if I take Harry during the services? You'd be able to hold your son and not bother with the stroller." He offered up what he hoped was a winning smile.

"Vernon," Petunia hissed under her breath, through teeth clenched into a smile. Remus wondered if she really thought he could not hear her. Perhaps he would not have been able to had he not been a werewolf.

"We'll have years, Petunia," he returned in the same voice. Then, more loudly: "Take him. And keep him away from Dudley."

_Wouldn't I just like to keep him away from Dudley permanently._ "Thank you." He wasted no time in pulling Harry from his seat, which was not difficult as Harry was still reaching for him, as if craving the affection being given so freely to his (undeserving) cousin. Semi-awkwardly, he wrapped Harry in the again-abandoned blanket. He had not had much experience with the handling of babies, but what experience he _had_ had had come with this particular one.

"Moony," he half-crooned once more. A tiny hand reached up to grab the hem of Remus' cloak.

"That's right," he whispered.

Harry smiled, and he looked almost grateful to be taken away from his "family"_ Babies can't feel gratitude_. Remus reminded himself harshly. _Stop imagining things._ Still, he could hardly have imagined that the pout had melted off of Harry's face as soon as he'd seen Remus. Now, though, he was falling asleep in cradled arms. _Probably the first time since his parents died that he's been away from his wretch of a cousin._

He sat down as far from Petunia and her family as he could, positioning himself so that Harry could drift off in complete comfort. He was happy that he would not have to have anything to do with the eulogies. General consensus seemed to be that he had been too shaken by the murder of two of his best friends at the hands of the third, not to mention a twelve-hour interrogation under veritaserum, to handle any responsibility with regards to the funeral. He was also under the impression that not much had needed doing. Lily and James had known that they were primary targets, and they had been prepared. Prepared the funeral. Prepared the will. Prepared for Harry's future.

But in that last, most important case, their preparations had not been enough. Dumbledore had decreed that Harry would be better off living with his Muggle relatives. Had Sirius not been a traitor, he could have reversed that decision. Contrary to popular opinion, Dumbledore was not a god who ruled the wizarding community by divine right. Sirius had the legal right to raise Harry, and if he had fought Dumbledore through official channels, the Hogwarts Headmaster would not have stood a chance.

As the tributes to Lily and James began, Remus tried to force thoughts of Sirius from his mind. _Sirius isn't worthy_ he snarled inwardly. Still, the idea that he should be allowed to mourn James, and Peter, and even Lily, but that he should just forget about Sirius seemed somehow wrong. He wished that, at the very least, he could ask Sirius _why_. But Sirius had been taken to Azkaban without so much as a drumhead trial.

The assembled mourners laughed weakly and succeeded in breaking Remus' train of thought at last. The speaker had told the story of James accidentally calling Dumbledore "senile" to his face. Remus had been there at the time, and he hadn't thought it very funny. Neither had James, for that matter. The tale had only begun to be passed around as amusing after Sirius had gleefully embellished it-- but Remus wasn't thinking about Sirius, not at James' funeral, not with James' image still asleep in his arms.

He managed to listen to the rest of the service, although he could derive no consolation from it. Harry awoke during the walk to the graveyard and favored Remus with a crooked smile so reminiscent of another crooked smile that he was forced to beat back tears. He was almost relieved when a voice interrupted his thoughts. "This is their son?" The speaker was one of the wizards more or less employed by the church to help run events of this nature. As Harry's picture, and the story of his scar, had been in every edition of the Daily Prophet for the past week, Remus felt sure that the inquiry was made not in hopes of receiving an answer but in an attempt to open conversation. He nodded in the affirmative, not unfriendly, not encouraging. The wizard pressed on. "Technically, he's the chief mourner. Do you want to take him and walk behind the coffins?" Remus nodded again. Ordinarily, he might have thought the idea exploitative and melodramatic, but he wanted to be away from the throng eager to get a closer look at Harry. He wanted to keep the one living reminder of a small circle of people he had dearly loved to himself for as long as he possibly could.

As he had hoped, the few feet of space he was suddenly granted made it easier for him to detach himself from the tears of the other mourners, which surely multiplied when they were granted a clear view of the Boy Who Lived. The tears increased tenfold when Harry, with little prompting from Remus, seized a handful of dirt in his tiny fist and dropped it into the open grave.

Ceremony over, Remus was forced to step back, and was annoyed but resigned when he felt a presence close beside him. His half-anger abated slightly, however, when he realized that his companion was Minerva McGonagall.

"It's about time for you to give him back to his aunt," she murmured.

"Not yet," he answered, startled that he sounded more assertive than pleading. Pleading was how he felt, after all.

"How long do you mean to keep him?"

"Indefinitely." Again, he was surprised to hear himself speaking in this way to his former teacher, whom he had, throughout his education, respected as an authority second only to Dumbledore. He still sometimes felt himself in danger of a stroke when he was asked to refer to her not as "Professor" but as "Minerva."

"Remus--" Her voice held sympathy in place of reprimand, but he interrupted her anyway.

"It's not right! Those Muggles don't understand who he is, or what he is, and they wouldn't even want to raise another child who was just like their own son! God forbid that two of him should exist!"

"Remus--"

"They don't want him, they won't love him, who knows if they'll even take proper care of him?"

"We _will_ know if they take proper care of him." He opened his mouth to protest, but she raised her hand slightly, and he obediently fell silent beneath to force of her gaze. "As it happens, I agree with you. I stood outside his aunt's house the day after Lily and James were killed, and I argued with Albus about it. He knows the family and their ways, but he believes that it's what's best for Harry. Really, it's a good situation. He'll be with blood relatives, which means strong protective spells. He'll grow up in the Muggle world, without having a chance to be spoiled by his fame. He'll have another child to play with."

"I don't want him playing with _that_ child."

Minerva sighed. "Perhaps Harry's good nature will rub off on him."

"No adult, let alone a one-year-old child, has enough good nature to change that family."

"No adult, let alone a one-year-old child, should be able to block Avada Kedavra. And at the very worst, Remus, it's just until he comes to Hogwarts. He'll be there most of the time until he's old enough to decide for himself where to go."

"So we hope he's had enough love and affection in the past fifteen months to last him the next ten years?"

"You never know. It's surprising that he's even here. I would never have thought that that family would come to the funeral, let alone bring Harry. We may have judged them too harshly. You haven't had much time to observe them, and you aren't in the most objective frame of mind right now."

"_Lily_ had her whole life to observe them, and she never had a single positive thing to say about her sister," he half-hissed in reply. "She and James went out of their way to keep Harry from being raised by those two! This is not what they wanted for their son! We'll honor them as heroes and martyrs but we won't respect their wishes about the baby they gave their lives to protect?"

Minerva's eyes hardened. She agreed wholeheartedly with her former student, but her feelings were irrelevant to the task at hand. "Give me that child, Remus. Now."

He knew that there was no room for argument. "See you when you're eleven," he told Harry. "Bye," he added almost sarcastically.

"Bye, Moony!" Harry sang out. He had not yet mastered sarcasm.

Remus had no desire to remain, now. The crowd was thinning anyway, and the later receptions promised to be more public and more raucous. He moved off over the grassy hill, dragging his feet more than was customary. He lowered his head to ward off any potential conversations, and thus only narrowly managed to avoid running headlong into Severus Snape. If Snape had been lurking around earlier, Remus had not noticed. He would have preferred not to notice him now, but Snape broke the silence between them almost immediately.

"Poor werewolf." His voice dripped with scorn. "Sad now that all his friends are either dead or in jail? Not so brave now, are you? Don't feel like you own the world now, do you? You oughtn't look so down, though. I don't believe that Gryffindors are allowed to cry."

"My condolences to you, too, Severus," he muttered before continuing on his way. There was no reason to curse Severus, just because James would have, or punch him, just because Sirius would have. James was dead and Sirius was the cause. That was what they were here to mourn.

Peter, of course, wouldn't have been able to hold his own against Snape; but the time to mourn Peter would be tomorrow. Remus was just wondering whether the rumors of his finger being sent to his mother in a box were true when a figure Apparated in his path.

"Remus, hold on."

"Minerva." Slightly removed from the situation, he felt guilt rush through his numbed senses and to the forefront of his weary mind. "I'm sorry for the way I spoke--"

"Forget it. You were hardly harsh, and it's more than understandable."

"Nonetheless--"

"Nonetheless, nothing. You're leaving?"

"No reason to stay. The mood is getting to be celebratory, and I just won't fit in."

"I suppose I understand. But do make certain you take care of yourself."

"I will."

"I mean it. Eat and sleep before you come back here for Peter--" her own voice began to break.

"I promise," he replied as smoothly as he could. "Take care of yourself as well." She nodded and returned to the crowd the way she had come, leaving Remus alone with his unhappy thoughts.


	6. Marauding

**Part 6: Marauding**

Remus awoke slowly, and gradually became aware that his shoulder was being shaken. This would have been bizarre enough, because midnight was approaching, and it did not seem appropriate to be awakened at midnight; but it became all the more strange when Remus realized that his wake up call was being delivered by Sirius. Sirius had had many chances in years gone by to end Remus' sleep prematurely. His favorite methods had included jumping on his bed; throwing a bucket of water on his head; performing various appearance-altering hexes; and placing a toad halfway down his throat if he dared to sleep with his mouth open. Never had Sirius done anything as mild and unimaginative as shake him awake. He must have been feeling wrung-out thanks to their conversation of a few hours earlier.

"Sorry," Remus muttered groggily, trying to forget his dream. The images had been exceptionally vivid, and had served to remind him that even if he would always miss the friends he had lost, their memories most definitely became sweeter, and their tragic ends less haunting, over time. The dream had also brought him to the disturbing conclusion that Harry's well-being had been a low priority for those who ruled the wizarding world from the day of Lily's and James' murders. Fourteen years ago he had been infuriated that Sirius had not fulfilled his promise to keep Harry away from the Durseleys; but Sirius was here to rectify that wrong now. He stared at his friend, glad that he no longer had to wrap his mind around the ridiculous idea that Sirius had been the one to betray James and Lily.

"Earth to Moon-y?" Sirius asked with a questioning smile.

"I'm ready. I was just dreaming."

"About me?"

"No, as it happens. Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get to Harry."

"I thought you weren't sure about taking him without convincing Dumbledore."

"I am now."

"Answer come to you in the dream?"

"You could say that." Sirius gave him a trademark pleadingly curious look; he had never been one to allow a perceived secret to remain undiscovered. "I was thinking about James' funeral. I held Harry for almost the whole time, and I didn't want to give him back. I knew it was just inherently _wrong_ for him to go to those Muggles. It was wrong then, and it's wrong now."

"Harry was at the funeral?"

"Surprising, isn't it?"

"What--" Sirius hesitated, knowing that they should be on their way to the Ministry warehouse, but fighting an overwhelming desire to ask the next question. He decided not to speak, and was therefore disconcerted when he heard his own voice inquire in an echoy sort of way "What was the funeral like?"

Remus sighed. "I don't remember it terribly well. I must have been partly in shock, and I was focused on Harry."

"You should have just left with him."

Remus' temper rose more swiftly than he generally allowed. "What was I going to say when Dumbledore tracked me down and told me to hand him over? 'Gee, Albus, make me?'"

"No, no, I didn't mean it that way. I know you couldn't have, I just wish you could have."

"So did I. So do I. In any case, they had guards around the church and you couldn't attend the funeral if you weren't on their list. Everyone was still out in the streets, celebrating. It was a real circus out there, but it was dead quiet inside. It was the same church Harry was baptized in, obviously. They're buried in the church graveyard, very close in, I don't know if you've been to see them."

"I haven't been able to bring myself to go over that way."

"I don't blame you. The graves aren't private, even if the funeral was. Er, Dumbledore spoke. Someone from our class at Hogwarts gave the actual eulogy."

"Not you?"

"Everyone walked on eggshells around me and no one dared to ask me to do anything. Besides, I was busy being interrogated while the funeral was being planned. The Ministry shouldn't be trusted with veritaserum, honestly."

"It can't have been a very long interrogation. You hardly knew anything that they didn't."

"They didn't want to believe that. For twelve hours they wouldn't let me move from the chair. The Death Eaters are gentler, and not just because their veritaserum isn't as good, either. But to get back to the point, Harry woke up as we were walking to the graveyard. He threw the first handful of dirt onto the coffins. Not a dry eye in the group."

"Do you think he understood?"

"No. He was too content. He was just such a nice kid, remember?"

"He still is."

"True. Every time the Daily Prophet doesn't have anything worthwhile to report on and starts reporting on him someone comments on how his good nature, and his compassion, probably come from living with a family he more or less hated."

"More."

"I know that, and you know that, but the rest of the world doesn't. My point is, he's not the person he is because he grew up downtrodden. It may have had some influence on him, but it can't be the be-all and end-all. He was patient and clever and sweet from the day he was born. I haven't stopped to think about that very often, but he really is the same boy he was when he lived with James and Lily."

"That makes me feel like less of a failure."

"Me, too. I know James wouldn't ask us for something we couldn't give-- he just thought too much to do something like that-- but the bottom line was Harry, himself. James wanted Harry to have just a _chance_, a chance to be happy and a chance to live, but mostly a chance to grow into the kind of person he would have been if his parents had been there to guide him. And he _is_-- in spite of everything, he _is_!"

"And in a few days we'll make sure that the nice kid gets treated the way he deserves. He has to be first this time. Even if we can't get to the wand, we're pulling Harry out of there. James _would_ ask us for that much."

"I think he would." They had continued their conversation as they moved through the house, gathering cloaks and checking locking spells. These small tasks were necessary, and had the added benefit of allowing Remus and Sirius to avoid making eye contact.

"Do you still miss him?" asked Sirius when he was as far away from his friend as he expected to be that night; that is to say, they were separated by perhaps two wandlengths.

"Miss James? Of course."

"The same way you did at first?"

Remus paused, obviously considering his answer before voicing it. "It's not the same. It's not a knife in my chest. Around the time they died, it was just all-consuming, but when time passed-- there are different kinds of missing people. There's missing people that you're used to seeing every day when you leave home, or school. That part fades. As for the other parts, even if I'll always miss him, life goes on. He wasn't the only person I lost in that war, and I just wouldn't be able to function if all I thought about them the way I did when they first died. But it's not that any of them matter any less. I'm not explaining this well."

"You're explaining perfectly."

"I doubt it."

"I don't. I-- When I was locked up, I didn't have a choice. I had to relive a handful of events over and over. I knew I wasn't going mad, but for a long time I just wished I could. And when I left, for months the feelings didn't stop. I thought they were permanent, even if I could focus on tracking down Wormtail and watching Harry, but they changed. My mind cleared, and I just wondered…" his voice trailed off.

"I understand. Are you ready to go?" _Of course he isn't, neither of us is_, Remus thought to himself, but they had no choice. Sirius answered in the affirmative, and they Apparated as one from the front porch to a side street near the warehouse which held the precious object of their quest.

Moments later, the two were huddled behind a transportation vehicle markedly similar to a Muggle automobile that they most sincerely hoped had been parked for the night. They were not sure of the exact time of the shift change, but they assumed that they would know it when they saw it, and, like any seasoned criminals, they knew well that the shift change was the best time to strike. Each made a supreme effort to focus on the task at hand and not on the multitude of emotionally draining conversations they had had that day. Sirius in particular was quite sure that he had done more pseudo-psychological analysis on himself and on Remus and Harry over the past day than he had in the previous thirty-odd years of his life.

He turned to look at Remus once more. His face, full of concentration, shone in the light of the nearly-full moon. The light caught not only his almost-too-pale features but the silver streaks in his hair, and Sirius wondered if perhaps they should have darkened those before leaving. He had even been slightly tempted to brush up on his transfiguration skills and equip them with a pair of balaclavas; but those did more harm than good in that they made their wearers look suspicious.

They heard the commotion in the doorway at the exact same moment; they caught one another's eyes and half rose to slip around their respective sides of their hiding place. With their typical canine quietness, they crept to the side of the building and pressed themselves against a cool stone wall. They edged nearer and nearer the doorway, which was the sole entrance to the building.

Suddenly, a shout caused both marauders to duck madly behind the far corner of the building, almost exactly opposite their final destination, pulling each other down by the shoulders as they went. After a brief pause to regroup, they observed that the shout had been that of a child, several blocks away. Slightly ashamed eyes met in the darkness. "We're pathetic," each informed the other without speaking aloud.

"Stupid brat should be in bed, anyway," Sirius added in his softest voice before they began the slow, painful, process of creeping forward again.

In the lead, Remus was offering prayers to every god he had ever heard of, and some he had just invented, that the door would not be properly closed before they were able to approach it. Anxiously, he slipped his hand in the general direction of the door. He slipped his hand right into what felt like the mouth of a rabid nundu.

Instantly, he bit his lips hard enough to fill his mouth with blood. A mouthful of blood, even for a werewolf reluctantly approaching the full moon, was infinitely preferable to a cry of pain. He should have known that such spells would surround the doorway. They were hard to place over extended amount of space, and so the entire building did not radiate invisible jets of scalding heat and acid, but naturally the areas nearest the door did.

_It's not as bad as touching silver. It's not as bad as touching silver. It's not as bad as touching silver,_ he repeated to himself. _Serves you right for not thinking about such an old spell_, he added. At least he had not triggered an alarm. An auditory or visible alarm would be impractical because the sensory jets could be triggered by an animal or by the wind; the jets' effectiveness depended on the offending witch or wizard screaming with pain. Remus, though, was used to pain. _It's not all bad to be a werewolf._

Behind Remus, Sirius correctly guessed his friend's predicament even without a clear view of his face or the door. Silently, he seized his companion's affected hand and performed a numbing spell, and then conjured a sort of balm which, while it was not specific enough to heal a complicated wound, would at least stop it from worsening while the hand's owner was otherwise occupied.

Sirius rewarded Remus' thankful smile with a devious smirk, and took over the role of leader. The first-shift and second-shift guards were still talking and paying their duties very little mind. It would have made one wonder about the Ministry if one hadn't wondered already.

The opportunity they had been awaiting came so obviously it might as well have been accompanied by a sign that read "walk past the guards now." All four watchwizards turned to look down the street, where the child they had previously heard shouting was standing in the middle of the street and loudly proclaiming that she did not _want_ to go to bed, much less to sleep.

As Sirius marched into the warehouse, he took back his earlier declaration that the child was a stupid brat. No, now she was gifted, and helpful, and intelligent, and deserving of a large gift from an unknown benefactor. He could not, of course, tell all of this to Remus, but he became distracted as he formulated words to use when he _did_ tell Remus. His anticipation of the celebration they would have after they retrieved his wand grew, and with it grew his distraction.

He was unprepared when familiar hands seized him and thrust him into a closet.

"Padfoot!" whispered Remus. "They aren't going to stare off away from the building forever. I think one is making rounds now." Footsteps clicking past their hiding place proved Remus right. They tensed against each other when the footsteps returned and opened the door.

"Bob? This should be locked!" he called.

"So lock it. You know how first shift is, screwing things up for us."

"Got it." He locked the door without ever looking inside.

"Remember to write a report on that," Bob yelled from his position near the front door.

Sirius and Remus could almost hear the face the other wizard made. "I hate those. Look, and there are traces of alohomora. There'll be an investigation if I write a report. It's a lot of effort just to get at first shift."

"Then don't report it. You did make sure no one's hiding inside?"

"Of course." The man sounded insulted. Sirius and Remus steadfastly avoided looking at one another, though they could not have seen each other's smirks in the dark.

"Did you use alohomora?" Sirius asked when he was sure it was safe.

"Yes."

"These guys are dumber than Filch on a bad day."

"But if we do get caught, the penalties are going to be a lot worse than a night spent cleaning the trophy room."

"You don't need to remind me. Is your hand okay?"

"It will be."

Sirius felt about in the dark, and, upon finding what he was reasonably sure was an unused cleaning cloth, transfigured a glove. "Put this on so you won't make it worse." Remus obeyed. "Now what?"

"The basement," said Remus firmly. "One of my ex-students took a tour and said that that's where all the 'cool' stuff is."

"They give tours?"

"To new Ministry security employees, yes. I don't suppose she should have been telling me what she saw, though."

Sirius nodded sagely. "A Hufflepuff?"

"Sirius!" Remus did his best to sound scolding, but finally rolled his eyes and admitted "Yes."

They waited in silence for the guard who was not Bob to walk past them once more. When they were sure he was checking an upper floor, and suspected that Bob was gazing out the front door, they cautiously left the closet, relocking it just in case not all of the guards hated to file reports, and unlocked a door further along the echoing corridor. They locked themselves inside and found that they were standing on a metal platform perhaps half a meter square.

Remus looked down and blanched.

Sirius looked down and grinned.

Below them was a narrow, metal, spiral staircase attached to the platform on which they stood by a single bolt and to the wall by another. A handwritten sign haphazardly attached to a rusted-through handrail advertised "The Stairs of Death."

They agreed at a glance that the steps would not support their weight, together or separately; they would not even support the weight of a large dog, even if the dog in question could have navigated them with his four feet. In addition, the slightest touch of Remus' hand produced a soft creak which would have been much amplified had they attempted to use the metal monstrosity to descend to the floor below.

Jumping was a dubious solution. They did not know the length of the drop or onto what they would be dropping, and a crash in the basement would surely draw even Bob's attention.

"Lumos," Remus murmured, and with that he tossed his wand through the gap between the stairs and the wall. The spark of light fell less than one story, but landed on a floor obviously made of glass-like gravel that would crunch and pop loudly if trod on by any but the gentlest of footsteps.

Now that they understood the situation, they knew how to manage it. Remus sank to a crouch, placing as much of his body as possible in contact with the metal platform. One of his hands clasped one of Sirius', and he allowed Sirius to seize his other wrist above the glove, which he noticed for the first time happened to be pink with orange stripes. He lowered Sirius to the ground gently, and then followed, allowing Sirius to half-catch him so that he would make no noise.

Remus retrieved his wand and increased the amount of light it spread across the room; beside him, Sirius lit his own wand. Boxes and boxes of startlingly disorganized objects littered the shelves of the expansive cellar.

Luckily, though, Sirius was drawn to his childhood possession like a magnet. They summarily removed the few simple spells that surrounded it. Sirius gave the wand a fond look but allowed Remus to pick it up. It was likely to spark the first time he touched it after so many years, and this show should be saved for his trial. Not only would it prove that the wand was his, it would prove that _he_ certainly hadn't been the one to remove it from Ministry custody.

With the exception of lowly whispered spells, neither had spoken a word during the half-hour that had passed since they had left the closet. Their quietness remained as they retraced their steps, maneuvered past Bob (who was investigating a plaque that seemed to be mysteriously flashing in different colors), and Apparated back to the safety of Remus' house.


	7. Confrontation

**Part 7:**** Confrontation**

The days that directly followed the retrieval of Sirius' childhood wand were calm and quiet by comparison. Because Harry had seemed to relax slightly after spending a day with Sirius and Hermione; and because Dumbledore had not granted Sirius permission to act and would be on the lookout for a hasty movement; and because the full moon occurred two nights after the theft of the ministry warehouse, Sirius elected to wait just under a week before returning to Little Whinging.

Remus had insisted that full moons were hardly worth noticing compared to what they had been during his adolescence, and that Sirius should treat that night as he would any other.

Sirius had insisted, more successfully, that some of his happiest childhood memories involved wrestling a werewolf and he was anxious to recapture them. And besides, he and Remus were supposed to be doing a job together so at least one of them should be at full mental capacity at all times. And besides, Remus had soundly defeated him the last time they had encountered one another in animal form and his ego needed some serious avenging. And besides, Remus had always claimed that having company made his transformations easier, and an easy transformation made easier was a very good thing. And besides, Remus had been on an emotional roller coaster over the past several days, and if the wolf reacted to Remus' emotional state, the transformation would not be as easy as he hoped. And besides, Sirius wanted Remus with him when he went to collect Harry in case there were complications. And besides, Sirius had spent most of his adult life surrounded by dementors, and would Remus want it be all his fault if Sirius wasn't able to perform a patronus charm because he did not have a fresh memory of playing under the stars to draw on?

At that point, Remus had rolled his eyes and given in, and proceeded to make Sirius promise to use his time in Azkaban as a guilt trip only once a week.

Sirius, who would have been willing to agree to use it only once a month, readily agreed.

Moony and Padfoot spent a splendid night running beneath the swollen moon. Remus was forced to admit that even wolfsbane could not change the worst night of the month into the best night the way Sirius could.

At last, when Remus was fully recovered and the number of owls flying between them and the other witches and wizards most firmly loyal to Dumbledore had slowed to a convenient trickle, the time came to deliver Harry from the clutches of his miserable excuses for relatives.

The lack of owls had given them a fine idea for recapturing Harry. Instead of using Hermione as a pseudo-Muggle guide, they planned simply to follow Hedwig, whom they had detained, straight to Privet Drive. The spells protecting Harry had been so greatly enhanced after Cedric Diggory's death that not just any owl could reach his bedroom window any longer; but surely Hedwig had nothing to fear from nets and was intelligent enough to make her way to what had, for several unfortunate expanses of time, been her home.

"Do you think we should tell Harry we're doing this against Dumbledore's orders?" Sirius asked as he and Remus sat down to finalize their plans.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"That's one of those ways that Harry is a lot like James. He's going to put his own well-being last if he's given the choice. Didn't I tell you about what he did after I told him I was coming back to England because his scar was hurting? He owled me and said he'd just _imagined_ the pain." Sirius punctuated his story with a snort.

Remus rolled his eyes in a manner generally reserved for a story about Sirius. "That does fit in with his character."

"He doesn't want me to put myself out there for him. When I saw him last week he as much as said he blamed himself for my hiding out in Hogsmeade instead of being off throwing parties or something. He can't get it through his head that I'm responsible for him and not the other way around."

"He doesn't have much experience with parents."

"No, he doesn't. And even though I've never seen him for more than a few hours at a time, I haven't been of much help. The first time he and I had a conversation, he had to talk us out of killing Pettigrew, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"He takes the blame for that, too. He's decided that if he had let us commit murder, Voldemort wouldn't have come back to power. I mean, it's possible, but so many things could have happened. We could have botched the spell, considering all the non-existent experience we have with working dark magic. One of Voldemort's other supporters could have come forward to help him. And in any case, _we'd_ be in dead, or worse."

"We also didn't have to listen to a thirteen-year-old. But even if he needs to have this explained to him a few dozen more times, you can't not tell him that we're there without permission if he asks. And knowing him, he _will_ ask. It never takes him long to start getting into the hard questions you don't want to answer."

"You think?" asked Sirius sarcastically.

"I know," Remus laughed in response. "Every time I had a conversation with him during that year he asked me at least one thing I didn't want him to ask. The time he wanted to know if I knew you I could barely get an answer out." Sirius turned away so that the question in his eyes would not be so obvious, but Remus answered him anyway. "If you're wondering, I dodged the question. I dodged a lot of questions from him. That was my original point-- he's clever, you know that. And even though the term is overused with regard to him, it's true that he's a fey child. He just _knows_ at some level whose intentions are good and whose are bad even when he doesn't know he knows. And it's more than that. It's more than surviving things he shouldn't or being wise beyond his years. Even if he hadn't been the Boy Who Lived, there would be a kind of pure light around him. He wouldn't have been an easy child to raise if you'd had the chance. It's not going to be easy helping him through the rest of his childhood."

"I never expected it to be easy."

"I didn't think you did. I just suspect that you'd be starting off on the wrong foot if he asked if you were supposed to be there and you said yes. He doesn't trust many people, and he doesn't do well with being lied to by the ones he does trust." Harry's words from over a year earlier still struck Remus to the core: _I trusted you, and all this time you've been his friend!_ The fury and betrayal in the young voice had nearly been too strong to describe. The desire they had evoked in Remus to remain as one of the trusted in the mind of James' son had been equally powerful.

"Well," said Sirius with feigned levity, "then let's get on with being trustworthy and helping him through the rest of his childhood."

X

Not so very far away, Harry was not sure he would be able to make it through the rest of his childhood at all; nor was he sure that he wanted to do so.

Aunt Petunia had done what Uncle Vernon had not: she had recognized Hermione for one of Harry's friends from school and had been absolutely furious with her husband for allowing Harry to go off with her. In desperation, Harry had attempted to prove that the man with Hermione had been his all-powerful godfather. He had sworn that if Sirius could come once, he could come again, and had noted that Sirius would not be pleased to find Harry in worse shape than when he had left. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, though, seemed to believe his words even less than he himself did.

The day after he had seen Hermione and Sirius, new bars had been fitted to his window, bars much stronger than the ones that had been used three summers before. Additionally, the pane of glass between the bars and the room had been closed and made airtight. His door had been entirely replaced by a block of metal which looked rather like the rest of the doors in the house but which most certainly was not. It was sealed not only with a common deadbolt, locked from the outside of course, but with a computer code as well. Harry doubted that even the Weasley twins would have been able to worm their way around that one.

Nonetheless, in some ways, he felt better than he had before being locked away in his cell. His solitary confinement had given him an opportunity to digest the thoughts that had come spinning to the surface of his mind during his one day of freedom.

Foremost among these thoughts was a statement Sirius had made: _I'd still protect you, like you, love you, if you were a Death Eater._ Love? Harry knew that that was an endearment often given by parents to their children. He had had to listen to Aunt Petunia's nauseating declarations of love for her ickle Duddy-wuddy-kins on a daily basis for most of his life. More recently, he had begun to be exposed to the Weasley family and their less sickeningly sweet, less plainly spoken, but equally passionate feelings for one another, visible even when they were fighting . . . .

"_You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't by any chance be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"_

"_Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained expression on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?" . . . ._

No matter how many times Mrs. Weasley yelled at the twins for their marks, or for their lack of ambition, or for their dangerous hobbies, no one, least of all they, doubted that she loved them. For their part, no matter how much time they expended on ridiculing their brother Percy . . . .

_Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized._

"_P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."_

"_I-- don't-- want--" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew._

"_And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."_

_They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater. . . ._

And Harry had even seen the brothers use the word with one another . . . .

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter-- I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie . . . ._

Love. Charlie had signed his note to Ron during Ron's first year at Hogwarts with that word as if it had been nothing out of the ordinary, as if it was the word that one expected to use when writing to one's youngest brother.

But never, ever, did Harry remember anyone but Sirius ever saying that he or she loved him, Harry. Hermione sometimes signed her letters "love from" but that was not the same thing. Even though he was still concerned that Sirius' loyalty to him would lead Sirius straight back to the dementors and their kiss, Harry could not help but enjoy the knowledge that the word had finally been directed at him.

With no work to distract him, Harry sometimes found less pleasant ideas chasing themselves in circles through his head, which he was getting quite tired of living exclusively inside. Other times, though, to his great surprise, he found himself feeling something like a lethargic boredom. At these times, he berated himself for not stealing his books from beneath the stairs when he had had the opportunity. Reading, he was sure, would have allowed him some reprieve from his vague sickness; and he proved himself right when he began to work his way through the pile of unused books of Dudley's that stood in one corner of Harry's room.

Muggle literature would not be as helpful to him in the long run as doing his homework might have been; but in addition to making him feel less tired, some of Dudley's books were quite interesting. _Lord of the Flies_ had been engrossing; and _A Tale of Two Cities_ did not deserve half of the obscenities which Dudley had scribbled across its cover; and _The Three Musketeers_ was extremely enjoyable, although the adventures of the fictional friends paled in comparison to some of Harry's real-life adventures.

Today, although Harry had been delighted to discover that _Twenty Years After_, another Musketeer novel, had also been deposited in his room for storage, he found himself reading and re-reading paragraphs without grasping the gist of the story.

Sighing, he put the book down beside him on his bed and did his best to look forward to a day of being hungry. He had been much, much better off, he decided, before his appetite had returned. In addition, his head ached, and when he pressed his palm to his forehead, it came away clammy. Finally, the pressure on his bladder was becoming increasingly painful; but he was escorted from his room for that purpose just once a day, usually in the late afternoon, hours from now.

As he shifted on his bed, accidentally knocking his book to the floor, a half-moan escaped his lips. _Stop that!_ he berated himself. _You don't feel that bad. At least you can feel hungry. Cedric Diggory would love to be allowed to feel hungry, wouldn't he? He'd love to be allowed to have a headache._

_Well, I've come full circle. Thinking I wasn't to blame for Cedric cost me. I was better off when I had the run of the house, and now, even though I know that Cedric was my fault, I'm locked up here. I should never have, should never have, should never have--_

"Boy!" A familiar call ruined Harry's internal berating. "Are you in there?"

_Where the hell else would I be?_ "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Good." The bolt slid back and Uncle Vernon entered the room, snarling at Harry. "You expect," he asked once he had lowered himself to the bed, nose-to-nose with his nephew "that your friends will save you?"

"No," answered Harry cluelessly.

"As you shouldn't," he chortled. "We won't be fooled by them again."

"Is Sirius here?" Harry asked, hoping against hope.

"Your godfather, if that's who he really is, is on his way with another man. They're both wearing those ridiculous robes so I don't think they're trying to fool us. But they'll not be allowed to set foot in this house, is that understood?"

Harry privately thought that his uncle would hardly be able to stop Sirius and his companion, if that was indeed whom his aunt had seen from her customary lookout at the front window. However, he meekly told his uncle that he understood.

"I would think so. But here's an added precaution. You never should have left before." With that, he took a length of rope from behind his back and tied an unresisting Harry's right arm to the bed frame. After turning briefly to admire his handiwork, he left the room, double-locking the door behind him.

Harry lay down once more, the position made suddenly awkward by the restraint placed on his arm. The knife Sirius had given him rested in his pocket, as it had ever since he had been caught without it while facing the band of Merpeople who were guarding the bound bodies of the Triwizard hostages, but Harry did not bother to reach for it. He could not afford to look as if he were blatantly disobeying Uncle Vernon today.

His ridiculous metal door blocked a high percentage of the sounds that traveled up from the lower half of the Dursleys' house, but Harry was still able to hear raised voices, startled shouts, and a number of thuds. He did not even have to strain himself to hear footsteps running up the stairs and stopping directly in front of his door. The first bolt slid back, then the second, so it had to be one of the Dursleys.

Harry raised himself onto one elbow in order to meet the eyes of his visitor, and was shocked to see none other than his all-time favorite Hogwarts teacher, Professor Lupin.

Professor Lupin did not look happy with what he saw, because he muttered something under his breath that Harry was very, very sure he would not repeat in mixed company. Then, "Harry."

"Hi," was the best response Harry could invent.

"My God," said Lupin almost as if to himself. "If Sirius sees this, he really will be guilty of murder." He strode quickly to Harry's side and made to remove the rope, but Harry jerked away as much as he could.

"No, you can't."

"Why not? What's wrong?"

"They'll be furious if you let me go. It'll get worse."

"Trust me, Harry," said Lupin with a very hard edge to his voice, "it's gotten as bad as it's going to get for you here. Ever."

"You don't know--"

"I know!"

"You don't know how they think." Harry squirmed desperately. "They don't like being shown up, and the next time I come back here--"

"It's highly unlikely that you'll come back here. Certainly not any time soon."

"But--"

"Let me untie that! What if something had happened? Muggle homes can be devastated by fire, or there could have been an intruder-- this is more than cruel, it's dangerous! Do you honestly believe it's all right to tie someone to a bed?"

"My knife is in my pocket. I could have untied it. I just didn't want to make them mad."

"I think they're mad already. In more ways than one, perhaps. Will you let me get you out of that?" In response, Harry handed him his precious knife. "This the one Sirius gave you?" Harry nodded. "It's very nice. Of course, it would be. He never was one to go halfway when it came to weapons."

He worked quickly and returned the knife to Harry, hesitating before taking Harry's wrist in both of his hands and examining it. "Does your wrist hurt?"

"No," Harry sat up, hoping his former professor would not notice the wave of dizziness that passed over him as he did so. "He just tied it when he saw that you were coming."

"That's something. What do you have in this room that you want to keep?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"All my Hogwarts stuff is down under the stairs."

"None of your clothes? None of your books?"

"The books are Dudley's. The clothes are his hand-me-downs, too. The better ones are in my trunk."

"Right, then. Can you stand?" Harry demonstrated that he could, with a minimum of weaving on his feet. "Let's go." Gratefully, Harry left the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, for what he dearly hoped would be the last time. He did not look back or examine the ridiculous steel door, but neither did he meet the concerned gaze of Professor Lupin. His eyes did stray unbidden to the bathroom door as the they walked by, and a gentle hand between his shoulder blades directed him toward it. "Come down when you're ready. We're hardly about to leave without you."

A few moments later, Harry, feeling considerably better, stared at his refection in the bathroom mirror. He was very pale, even by his standards, and his green eyes stood out in his face more than was their custom. His skin still looked slicked by a cold sweat, and he wondered whether or not he was truly physically ill. He supposed he should go downstairs.

Unsure of himself, Harry paused on the stairs. All three Dursleys, Professor Lupin, and Sirius were standing in the front hall. Aunt Petunia held a frying pan, as if she had been cooking in the kitchen even as she spied her unwanted visitors' approach. Dudley was cowering, as he always did at the sight of wizards not named Harry Potter. Uncle Vernon was blustering in a way that would have frightened Harry more if he had not seen these displays on a regular basis for most of his life.

" …I know you scum-of-the-Earth wizards think you run the world, but you weren't here when that boy turned up on my doorstep fourteen years ago. You lost your little claim on him then."

Professor Lupin replied with frightening calm. "You don't want Harry here. We don't want Harry here. It seems to me that we agree."

"We've invested too much in him to let him go," snarled Uncle Vernon. "Besides, he'll be back here next summer and we don't want him to be worse."

"We don't care what you want!" hissed Sirius, sounding every bit the murderer he was assumed to be. "We care about him! The extent of our concern for you extends to our opinion that you would look lovely as a dung beetle!"

Around the corner of the stairs, Harry could just see Aunt Petunia shudder. She looked as if she might, with courage not often displayed, step forward and pull her husband back before he came to harm, but Professor Lupin moved more quickly. He draped an arm carelessly over Sirius' shoulders before addressing Uncle Vernon once more.

"His things are under the stairs?"

"They are, but I'll not have you rifling through them. How did you get past the computer, anyway?"

"Firstly, you left a note with the code written on it right next to the door. Secondly, you're more than welcome to remove Harry's trunk yourself." He let go of Sirius to point at the cupboard. "Unlock that, please." To Harry, the steely edge in Lupin's voice belied his politeness of manner, but the control was lost on his uncle.

"I'll not be told what to do in my own house."

Sirius took advantage of the removal of his friend's restraint to close the distance between himself and Vernon in one long stride. Vernon Dursley was by no means a small man, but Sirius dwarfed him in his anger. "You'd prefer not to have a house at all?" Quickly, he drew his wand from his belt. "We could arrange that--"

"Now, Sirius," Lupin interrupted. "I'm sure threats aren't necessary. I'm sure he's just about to open it. Aren't you?"

Vernon grumbled something that Harry was unable to hear clearly, but keys clanked together and the unmistakable sound of his trunk sliding from the cupboard followed.

"Thank you," said Lupin with a pleasantness that amazed Harry. Lupin had not looked as if he had had any pleasant feelings toward the Dursleys when he had spoken to Harry in his room.

"Dad." Dudley's voice was not much above a whisper, but the terror it contained allowed it to travel clearly to Harry's ears. "You can't just let him--"

"I don't believe anyone asked you." That was Sirius again. Dudley must be close to a nervous breakdown, Harry mused. Having Sirius' full attention directed at you could be an unnerving experience even if Sirius was not upset with you in the slightest. Sirius would have been able to look at water and make it boil even if he had not been powerfully magical and a fully trained wizard.

"I-- I--" Dudley's throat had obviously gone dry. Harry almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"DON'T TOUCH MY SON!" Vernon bellowed.

"It's hard not to. He takes up a great deal of space."

"YOU--"

Sirius was laughing. "You know, Harry was right. He does look kind of like a pig in a wig."

"YOU--"

"Dudley, I heard you had a pig's tail once. Would you like another, or something different this time?"

Throwing caution to the wind, Dudley ran past Sirius as best he could, causing the whole house to shake. He scrambled up the stairs to where Harry sat observing, and a collision between the cousins was prevented only by Harry's Quidditch reflexes.

"What are you doing here?" squeaked Dudley.

"Nothing."

"Why aren't you downstairs with your weird friends?"

"Well, you seemed to be enjoying them so much that I didn't want to interrupt."

While Dudley had never been a thoughtful, sensitive boy, he _had_ grown up in the same house as Harry and was occasionally quite adept at reading his cousin's thoughts. "Are you afraid? Did you do something wrong at that school of yours, and they're here to take you to be punished? The one said he's a professor."

"He is."

Dudley sniggered, and while his snigger was rather high-pitched, it made up in meanness what it lost in post-traumatic fright. "You aren't answering. You are scared, aren't you? Scared of your own weird kind. Well, you can stay here. Ready to go back in your room? I'll lock you in."

"That would hardly be fair. I've been locked in all week. I think you should have a turn." Without magic, Harry had no way of forcing his enormous cousin into the room, and furthermore he had no real intention of doing so. But Dudley, still shaken by Sirius' threats, jumped backwards, and lost his footing on the stairway. Instinctively, Harry lunged for him-- he had gotten quite used to grabbing onto fellow climbers of stairs since moving into Gryffindor tower, which featured a trick step. Dudley fell quickly, though, and landed in the hallway like a beached whale. Harry's own momentum carried him forward, and he jumped over his cousin to stand near him. Both Sirius and Professor Lupin smiled.

"Ready to go?" asked Lupin with a cheeriness Harry suspected was sarcastic, but he was drowned out by Petunia's wails.

"My poor Dudley. Oh, Duddy-- Vernon, call an ambulance!"

"It was just a tumble," Lupin muttered aside to Sirius. "I think he's all right, don't you?"

"I don't really care. But yes, it is a long way through all that padding to his bones."

"You-- you-- oh, Duddykins, Mummy's here." Petunia was torn between her desire to punish her nephew and her desire to cradle her son, if such a thing were possible without a forklift. She chose her son, though, when Dudley shifted into a sitting position with his knees drawn to his chest.

"He-- he said he was going to lock me in his room." Dudley's lip trembled, and no matter how afraid he might have been of Sirius, Harry was sure that Dudley was now faking his fear to get Harry in trouble, as he had done so often before.

"You wretch!" Petunia had forgotten her own terror in her righteous indignation over the tormenting of her defenseless son. She raised her right hand, which still held the frying pan, and aimed a blow at Harry as she had many times before.

Always in the past, Harry had jumped out of the way. There had never been a follow-up attack; the whole thing had been something of a game. This time, though, Harry was studying his trunk, and his broom, and Hedwig's cage, and considering how Sirius and Professor Lupin intended to move it.

This time, Harry didn't think to dodge.

This time, of all times, the blow landed.

Harry fell to the floor. He regained consciousness almost instantly, blinking up confusedly at the adults in the room, wondering dumbly how they had moved as if seconds had passed without Harry's noticing. Sirius and Professor Lupin knelt on either side of him; Dudley was still on the floor nearby; Aunt Petunia was standing where she had been, frozen, clearly stunned at the result of her action; and Uncle Vernon stood behind her, as if not entirely sure what to do.

"What--" mumbled Harry wearily, struggling to comprehend the concerned faces that were mere inches from his own.

"Are you all right?" asked Sirius desperately.

"M'fine."

"I--" Aunt Petunia began to say something, but she looked lost, and Uncle Vernon cut her off in any case.

"He's had it coming for a long time, Petunia. It's about time. And you can see it hardly phased him."

"THE PAIR OF YOU!" Sirius had slid Harry entirely into Lupin's arms and stood up to face the Dursleys. "YOU ARE THE MOST MISERABLE EXCUSES FOR HUMAN BEINGS I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO LAY EYES ON, BUT I'LL NOT BE LOOKING AT YOU FOR LONG!"

Petunia whimpered, and cast a beseeching glance at Professor Lupin. "Please."

Lupin, conceivably out of respect for the fact that Harry's ears were in close proximity to his own mouth, did not yell. He simply glared, and quite coolly commented "I'm tired of playing 'good wizard.' I want to see the two of you transformed into eels, and _I'm_ the nice one."

Sirius did not take his eyes from his victim, nor did he lower his wand, but he caught his friend's eye in the reflection of a window. "Eels, you think?"

"Dung beetles are rather stereotypical. With a sea creature, you get to watch them try to breathe air. It looks very painful, the way they writhe around at first."

"They're still on the resilient side, though. How do you feel about spiders? Not an acromantula, just a garden spider, nice and fragile?"

Sirius' inquisitive turn of phrase would have been humorous had it not been for the immense hatred and gravity in his voice. Dudley was actually trembling now, and neither of his parents looked much better.

"No," whispered Harry. His voice was barely audible, but it was lost on no one in the room, except perhaps Dudley, whose face had gone slack and vacant in his pure terror.

"No? Harry, it's just a hex," said Sirius, still without turning around.

"But--" Harry struggled to regain his feet, and rather than argue with him, Lupin helped him to stand up. "She didn't mean to hit me. You can see that."

"She didn't mean to hit you?" Some of the disgust in Sirius' voice was pushed aside by disbelief. "That's why she swung an iron frying pan at your HEAD?"

"She expected me to move." Aunt Petunia was nodding frantically in agreement. "She's done that loads of times, and I've always moved before. Like the time I went up to the hedge and said 'hocus pocus' and told Dudley that would set it on fire, that was almost a threat, and when I jumped out of the way that time, she didn't come after me again. It's like when you're dueling with someone, and they suddenly get distracted so you hit them full-on with a hex you wouldn't ordinarily use, because you're just playing."

"Harry."

"Let's just go. Please?" His voice had taken on a pathetic edge, and he didn't care. He didn't care that for all of his childhood he had hoped a mysterious guardian, a long-lost relative, a fairy tale godfather, would come forward and say these things to the Dursleys. He only wanted everything to stop.

"If that's what you want." With an effort, and a half-flourish, Sirius turned his wand from the Dursleys to Harry's belongings. These he bound together with rope, compacted, bewitched to float, and, finally, made invisible. He worked so quickly that Harry could barely pick out what he knew to be four separate spells. "You're ready?" Harry nodded. Sirius came to stand on his other side, and the three wizards walked through the front door together.

"AND IF YOU EVER COME BACK, YOU'LL GET WORSE THAN A FRYING PAN TO THE HEAD!" bellowed Uncle Vernon after them. Apparently, he had recovered his voice.

Quicker that quick, Sirius and Lupin exchanged a glance over Harry's head, and Sirius turned, shouting "Aranea!" A bright light filled the room they had just left, and where Harry's uncle had stood, there was nothing. No, there was _something_. A spider. "Sorry, Harry," said Sirius, not sounding very sorry at all. "He didn't give me a choice. It wears off quickly, as I'm sure your aunt knows, despite that over-dramatic screaming. She did have a sister who was a witch."

"A witch with a sense of humor, no less," added Lupin, who was pulling off his robes. Sirius did likewise; both were dressed in Muggle clothing beneath the robes.

"We aren't trying to make a scene," Sirius explained. "We just thought they'd be intimidated by robes."

"Scary as they are," added Lupin.

Harry looked over his shoulder, despite the pain that this caused in his aching head. "Why didn't you Apparate inside? That's intimidating"

If he had not known better, he would have suspected that an I-told-you-so expression passed from Lupin to Sirius. "Anti-Apparition fields," Sirius answered succinctly.

"Why weren't they lifted? Can't Professor Dumbledore do that?"

"He can. In this case, he didn't."

"Why?"

"Well, he didn't want anyone to Apparate in there and take you, obviously."

Harry stopped dead. "Anyone, including you?"

"It would seem that way, yes."

"Thank you for the thought, but I'm going back now."

"Harry."

"He wouldn't keep me there if he didn't have a good reason! Sirius, whoever wants to kill me is probably going to kill both of you now, too."

"The Death Eaters would like to kill Remus, anyway. And they won't kill me because they get so much enjoyment out of watching me take the blame for their recent activities."

"I'm still going back."

"Harry," Professor Lupin suddenly took over, "we are not negotiating. We are not suggesting that you leave with us. We are not asking. We are telling."

"And if I don't want to go you're going to lock me up behind some metal door?"

"I don't believe we have to. I believe you know you're doing the right thing by coming with us." Lupin certainly sounded annoyingly parental for someone who had never had children. Harry assumed that such things were covered in the teacher's manual handed out to Defense Against Dark Arts professors. He doubted that the average Defense Against Dark Arts professor would read said hypothetical manual; but Lupin had not been the average Defense Against Dark Arts professor, in that he had been competent.

Harry said nothing, but his silence was quite obviously taken as agreement and acceptance. By now, they had traveled to the small collection of shops nearest Privet Drive. Lupin pointed to a bench. "Sit."

Harry sat.

"Where does your head hurt?"

_Where she hit me._ "Where she hit me." _I didn't mean to say that out loud._ "Sir."

Lupin laughed. "Harry, the formality isn't necessary. I haven't been your professor for over a year. Call me Remus or Moony, if you can handle it."

"Moony?" snickered Harry, almost able to ignore the fingers that were probing at the bump on his head and the eyes looking into his own.

"You used it when you were a baby."

"Wait-- I was old enough to talk when…" Harry's voice trailed off.

"You knew a few words and that was one of them. 'Padfoot' was another."

"But you never said 'Wormtail,'" Sirius added before Harry could question. "What do you think, Moony? Is it a concussion?"

"It's just a bump. I don't imagine it feels very good, but there's no need to find a doctor who'll keep his mouth shut."

"You're sure?"

"I've seen _you_ concussed often enough, Padfoot." Sirius attempted to look affronted. "Don't give me that. We all know how many bludgers you took to the head in that one match."

"Harry probably doesn't," Sirius protested.

"Well, he does now. Four." Remus threw a conspiratorial glance toward Harry. "Or we could discuss the time a group of Slytherins managed to break the spells on the windows of the Gryffindor common room, and your godfather thought he could get revenge single-handedly, and--"

"Lies, Harry, all lies."

"Not to mention the Ravenclaw passageway incident--"

"That was at least half _your_ fault, Professor Moony."

"How many are we up to, three? We can't forget the time you got hit over the head with your own cauldron."

"It wasn't my stupid idea to have the houses that hate each other take potions together."

"I'll give you that. The Slytherins are bad enough all by themselves."

"And here I thought you were perfectly impartial, professor."

"I _am_ perfectly impartial. Don't I sound perfectly impartial?"

"In a word--" Sirius broke off as he noticed Harry staring at them, wide-eyed. "Harry? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"I doubt that."

"Honestly, I was just thinking that I'd only seen you together once before and you didn't exactly act like this then." The older men exchanged guilty glances, and Harry rushed on. "It's not as though you didn't have a good reason not to, but now you sound like Ron and me." Harry was saved from further explanation when a familiar blur of white caught his eye. "Hedwig!"

The beautiful owl swooped from the sky-- an odd sight for Muggles who knew the bird to be not only nocturnal but also non-native-- and perched delicately on the bench behind Harry, giving his ear an affectionate nip. "What're you doing here?"

"She was helping us with the disorientation spells," Sirius supplied automatically, but as he spoke, his eyes lit, and met Remus' eyes. "Wasn't she?"

"Oh, Hedwig did her job," answered Remus slowly. "But if you're asking if those spells were there, _I_ didn't feel them."

"Dumbledore can't have taken them down. Not permanently."

"I don't believe he did."

Sirius rolled his eyes skyward. "We ought to be used to that man being ten steps ahead of us, but how could he know when, exactly?"

"It's not as if it's predictable for us to wait until a couple of days after the full moon, when our correspondence with Arabella and Mundungus conveniently slows to nothing." Sirius groaned. "Face it. He's smarter than we are."

"I never said he wasn't."

"Seeing as he is, I don't see why we shouldn't take Harry back to my house to look at his head and whatever other bruises he has. It should be safe for a day or so, before you go undercover."

"Undercover?" inquired Harry warily. His head was beginning to throb all the more.

Sirius smiled. "Harry, we have interesting plans for the rest of your summer…"


	8. London Undercover

**Part 8: London Undercover**

Sirius smiled. "Harry, we have interesting plans for the rest of your summer…" He allowed his voice to trail off.

"Well?" asked Harry.

"We'd better get out of here," said Sirius abruptly. "Ready to Apparate?" he questioned Remus.

"If you are."

"I thought you _couldn't_ Apparate here," Harry interrupted.

"Just not into your house," Remus explained as if they were back in his classroom and discussing Red Caps. "We can't _Dis_apparate from inside, either, but from your front yard we can."

"Why didn't you?"

"We wanted to see that you were all right. It's hard to do when you're not prepared."

"You also shouldn't Apparate when you've just been threatening to commit murder," Sirius added. "You try it when you're as angry as you can get and you're likely to splinch yourself." That explained, he turned back to Remus. "From behind those buildings, you think? Does that look safe?"

"I think so." The three, with Hedwig still fluttering above them, and presumably with Harry's invisible luggage in tow, wandered as discretely around the building as they could. The high brick wall had no windows, and gave them the privacy they needed to avoid a citation from the Ministry of Magic, which was not, in all likelihood, pleased with them to begin with.

"Trust me, Harry?" asked Sirius.

"Yes," said Harry doubtfully. He did trust his godfather, of course; and Hermione had babbled cheerfully about the experience of being Apparated when he had seen her the week before.

"What's wrong?"

"I really screwed up the first time I used Floo powder. I ended up in Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "That can't happen with Apparating. Well-- it can, but it won't, because you aren't doing anything except not putting up a fight. And even though the theoretic concepts behind Floo powder and Apparating are connected, the actual experience isn't the same. Okay?"

Harry felt slightly better. "Okay."

Apparition certainly turned out not to be worth his anxiety; in the blink of an eye, he moved from the gloomy back door of a Muggle shop to a small, cozy house in what seemed to be an isolated area.

Once they had gone inside, Harry began a campaign to find out just what Remus had meant by "undercover." His quest was in vain, though. Sirius and Remus seemed to have entirely forgotten that they had suggested anything of the kind, and insisted on giving Harry food and healing potions, which he was forced to admit did stop the pain in his head.

"I know what you want to know," Sirius finally announced.

"What?" asked Harry with as much mock-annoyance as he could muster. He could see that Sirius was teasing him, gently feeling him out, but he did not have the energy to react strongly.

"You want to know when you can go outside and visit your friend."

"My friend?"

Sirius nodded. "He's still out behind the shed?" he called to Remus.

Remus answered in the affirmative.

"Fine, Sirius. Who or what is out there?"

Sirius shrugged. "Let's go see."

He escorted Harry outside and around the mentioned shed, which Harry took care to notice had been reinforced in such a way that it could easily contain an untreated werewolf once a month. There, lazing happily in the sun, was a large, gray, horse-like animal. "Buckbeak!" Harry exclaimed, and hastily bowed to the hippogriff, which lowered its head in return. Harry gently stroked the feathers that covered the great beast's front half. "He's doing okay?" Harry asked Sirius.

"Very well. He's a nice animal. Always gets me where I want to go, and he has a friendly disposition, by hippogriff standards."

"I know he does. That git Malfoy provoked him and then had his father make a big deal out of a little scratch just to get at Hagrid. And the Gryffindors." He looked Sirius in the eye. "Speaking of Gryffindors, what do you plan to do with me for the next four and a half weeks?"

"I plan to have you play with Buckbeak for the rest of this afternoon."

"What do you play with a hippogriff?" asked Harry, reluctantly allowing Sirius to dodge his original question.

"This one likes fetch." Harry favored his godfather with a disbelieving look. "Go ahead. Try."

A thick, sturdy, bright purple stick appeared at Harry's feet. Seeing that he had nothing better to do, he flung the stick from his body as hard as he could, loudly calling "Fetch, Buckbeak!"

To his great surprise, the hippogriff sprang to its oddly matched feet and dashed across the field after the stick, turning quickly once it had clamped the purple rod in its sharp beak and skidding to a stop in front of Harry.

"Is this a joke?" wondered Harry aloud.

"Would I make this up?" Harry suspected that the answer to that question was actually "yes, you'd make just about anything up," but in this case the hippogriff and his love for the game were both obviously as real as Harry.

The rest of the afternoon was spent happily engaged in the mindless game. The sun was warm and comforting, and the magical if dangerous beast was familiar in a way that a bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive, could never be. He had just brushed a very receptive Buckbeak with the grooming implements he had found leaning next to the shed, and thought to himself that he had indeed learned something from Hagrid's class, when he was called inside.

His evening was punctuated by a dose of frightening-looking dreamless sleep potion which Sirius and Remus were of the opinion could do him no harm since any horrid event that might invade Harry's dreams had occurred months earlier anyway.

Sirius and Remus, for their part, had a private motive in giving Harry a sleeping draught. Primarily, of course, they wanted him to sleep through the night, since the circles beneath his luminous eyes made it painfully evident that he had not been doing so. Additionally, though, they wanted to ensure that Harry would not happen to wander downstairs in the middle of the night, as they themselves planned to do.

When Remus padded quietly downstairs in the early hours of the morning, he was surprised to see Sirius standing idly next to the curtained window, half-heartedly using his wand to make various objects soar around the room.

"You're early," commented Remus, not wanting to startle Sirius while the other man had a wand in his hand.

Sirius gave him an ironic glance. "Want to guess why?"

"Why?"

Sirius waved the wand toward the window. "The rain."

"Was there thunder?" Remus asked. He had noticed the rain, too, but it hadn't awakened him; in fact, it had seemed rather gentle.

"Not that I know of."

"Did the roof blow away?"

"No, as it happens. I just woke up and heard the rain on the roof. And you know what I did?"

"Came downstairs?"

"Before that."

"What?"

"Panicked. Just panicked. Went for my wand. I'd completely forgotten what rain on the roof sounds like. I thought there was some kind of strange invasion and I was wondering how whoever it was had found out where Harry was so fast, and wondering if he and you were all right, when I realized what it was. Rain. Can you imagine forgetting what rain sounds like when you're inside a house?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Sirius made an obvious effort to snap himself out of his reflective, sad mood. "Start working. Think he knows we remember?"

"I'm not sure he remembers himself. No one's ever made a big deal of his birthday. It's a shame we can't throw him a real party, and invite all of his roommates and classmates and Quidditch teammates."

"He's not up to it, even if it were safe." Sirius paused, forcing Remus to meet his gaze. "Truth, Moony. How bad was that room the Muggles had him in?"

"The _room_ wasn't bad."

"Wasn't bad how?"

"It was a perfectly ordinary bedroom, except the windows were barred, and the door was probably intended to seal a vault in a bank. The air was stale, obviously, but it wasn't unlivable. At least, it wouldn't have been if he had been allowed out for more than a few minutes once a day."

"Do you think they hit him more often than he says?"

"He doesn't have the bruises to show for it. He obviously got threatened on a regular basis, and cuffed sometimes, but honestly, you've seen him play Quidditch. You can't hit what you can't catch."

Each face saw disgust raised to its highest power reflected in the other. "It doesn't matter how good the seeker is. He still needs beaters," Sirius said grimly. "Do you think he's sick?"

Remus gave the question some consideration. "I think he's mostly hungry and tired. He's in a good place to come down with something, but he hasn't been exposed to any germs. And he _is_ extremely magical. I certainly didn't notice anything when we were checking him out."

"That was what I thought, too, but I didn't want to hold a teenager to my standards. The 'if I'm in one piece I'm perfectly fine' philosophy is all right for me, but not for him. It's mad, thinking that I can help him. How can I convince him that he isn't responsible for this mess when I haven't entirely convinced myself that I'm not responsible for his miserable life? How do I stop him from having the dreams you _know_ he's having when I'm probably going to have Azkaban dreams for the rest of my life?"

"You'll manage."

"He was incredibly pale when he first came downstairs with his cousin."

"He was also sweating like he had a fever, but the fresh air and the food seemed to help. If we're lucky, just taking care of his basic needs will be enough, from a physical point of view."

"Moony?"

"Yes?"

"No one in this house is ever lucky."

"Then we're due." Finding the depressing subject exhausted, Remus searched for a more satisfactory one. "Where did you put the gifts?" he asked, although he knew the answer full well.

Sirius grinned-- a welcome sight. "Up there." He pointed at the far corner of the ceiling, muttered a revealing spell, and floated several boxes down to places of honor on a nearby table.

"Ron's and Hermione's are there, too?"

"On top." Sirius made a face. "I wish we could give him more."

"You can. _Later_. We decided that that was best."

"I just want to see him spectacularly spoiled. Don't you?"

"Yes, but we both know he doesn't know how to be spectacularly spoiled. Additionally, we both know that we don't know exactly what to spoil him with. Finally, we both know that you can't throw your money around the way you'd like to. You don't have any way of getting more."

"I'm going to demand interest from the Ministry when they declare me innocent."

"If that even happens, it could be a long way off."

"Don't remind me."

"I don't want to see you get carried away." Without responding, Sirius began to use his wand to paint the walls with swirls of bright color, and Remus followed by adding glittered letters that spelled out "Happy Birthday, Harry" as they crawled through the curls of color as if alive. Balloons were summarily conjured and affixed to the ceiling, along with a banner adorned with a wish for a happy fifteenth birthday.

X

Harry hesitantly walked downstairs the next morning. He inwardly remarked on his unfitness to be in the House of the Brave at Hogwarts, since the mere thought of walking down a flight of stairs that did not even feature a trick step frightened him; but then he decided that as long as he walked down the stairs anyway, it did not matter that he was scared.

It did matter, however, he thought guiltily, that he was not able to draw a distinct line between the Dursleys, whom he had known were not the nicest of people for as long as he could remember, and Sirius and Remus, his parents' friends, who were every good thing you could think to say about a person. Someone did not have to be as exceptional as Sirius or Remus, though, not to believe that Harry should be locked in his room and not permitted to enter the part of the house where everyone else was.

Harry reminded himself that he did this every time he stayed with the Weasleys. The Weasleys even rescued him from the Dursleys on a regular basis.

He wondered if Uncle Vernon was still a spider.

That thought brought enough of a distraction from the stairs to allow Harry to propel himself down them. Reaching the bottom step, he was hard put to keep his mouth from falling open in shock.

The entire room before him seemed to sparkle with decorations that rivaled those found at Hogwarts on Christmas Day.

"Harry? Are you just going to stand there?" Sirius' voice cut through Harry's shock.

"It's his birthday," said Remus, coming into view as well. "He can stand there if he wants to."

"All right," agreed Sirius amicably. "But we get to bring his presents over to him if he stays there."

Remus nodded his consent. "Okay, Harry. Are you going to stand there or walk over to the table? And happy birthday," he added as an afterthought.

"Happy birthday," Sirius repeated.

"Is it really my birthday?" Harry felt the need to ask. He had completely lost track of time.

"Last time I checked, it was," said Sirius. "But I could be wrong. Are we sure it's his birthday, Moony?"

The two of them, Harry reflected, were beginning to sound like partners in a comedy routine, what with the way they incessantly played their words off of one another. He knew that such behavior was common among friends-- he and Ron frequently staged entire conversations just to tease Hermione-- but in the past he had almost always seen these two men separate, solemn, and, at least in the case of Remus, behaving like reasonably mature adults.

"We're pretty sure," Remus was answering. "We _were_ there, after all."

"You were?" asked Harry, interested. Sirius snickered.

"Your father was acting, well, like your father. Your mother kicked him out of the delivery room, so he called us over to keep him from climbing the walls. Fifteen years ago today. Now go open your presents. We want to see what you got."

So did Harry, now that he thought of it. He went right to the business of unwrapping more presents than he had ever had at once before. From Hermione, along with a note pleading with him to be "all right," was a miniature model of a Quidditch field, with miniature players bewitched to re-enact some of the most famous Quidditch matches in history. Ron had gone with an old standby and sent Harry a box of the best jokes and sweets from shops in Hogsmeade. His card had also been signed by Ginny and both of the twins-- Ginny had noted that their parents and Percy weren't home, and Fred had injected that Harry didn't care and didn't want his card signed by them anyway, and Ginny had argued, and Ron had told them all that he was going to remove their contributions from the card. All in all, the signature section of the card went on for several pages and was one of the more entertaining things Harry had ever read. He decided to leave his internal debate as to which of the Weasley siblings to feel sorry for until a later time and open Hagrid's present, which was a seed from a rare-- but so far as Harry knew, harmless-- plant that grew in the Forbidden Forest. The plant was exceptionally magical in nature, and the coveted seeds were seldom available for private purchase.

The remaining four boxes had no cards attached. Harry reached for the largest square one, and carefully unwrapped the paper before nearly dropping the gift in surprise. Sirius mumbled something about how educational presents were horrible, but Harry's senses were full of the sight before him, even more impressive than Hermione's gift. It was a model of the galaxy, correct to the last detail, which revolved inside a glass ball. He had nearly bought a similar model himself just before his third year at Hogwarts, and was barely able to tear himself away from it to peek inside the next package.

This package was soft and pliant, and obviously contained clothing. Dudley had always loathed gifts of this sort, had not even included them in his overall "present count," but Harry, who had seldom owned clothes that fit, was as pleased with them as any others. The clothing, to his surprise, was Muggle in nature, and two watches, one of a Muggle variety and one of a wizarding variety, lay atop it. A stack of Quidditich books, and another stack of wizarding games, were hidden in the final two boxes.

Suddenly aware that he hadn't spoken during his unwrapping process, Harry looked up guiltily. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. Thank you so much."

Sirius shrugged. "Whoever left those didn't send a note. There's no need to say thank you."

"Well, if you happen to run into any suspicious-looking people who might send me birthday presents, would you let them know I said thank you?"

"Of course. But I believe your breakfast's getting cold."

His breakfast, Harry soon discovered, was more comparable to a Hogwarts feast than to any other breakfast he had ever eaten. The good food, combined with the fact that twenty-four hours earlier he had wondered if he would ever again have enough to eat, caused him to continue chewing and swallowing well after he felt full. When he at last put his fork down, he found that Professor Lupin-- Remus-- was watching him carefully, and he responded with a questioning glance.

"Harry, can you answer a question for me honestly?"

"I can try," Harry answered cautiously, hoping that he would be able to answer.

"How do you feel? Physically?"

"My head doesn't hurt anymore."

"Good. But that's not entirely what I meant. Do you feel sick, or very tired?"

Harry considered before answering. "Yesterday I thought I might be catching something horrible, but I feel a lot better now. Just . . . ."

"Just?" Remus prompted.

"Nervous. Sort of. I don't know. I mean, I'm fine. Nothing hurts. You could send me back to the Dursleys. I'm healed."

"I'll try to forget that last suggestion."

Harry winced. "I'm sorry--"

"You don't have to be sorry. But since you're feeling up to it, there's another birthday present for you floating around somewhere." With that, Remus pulled a West Ham football hat from thin air. It apparently _had_ been floating around.

_Dean Thomas will approve_, thought Harry as he examined the logo.

"Know what that is?" asked Sirius.

"Other than a hat?"

"Other than a hat."

"Not really."

"Put it on." Harry did so. "Now, look in a mirror. Accio." Sirius summoned a mirror from the next room. "Notice anything?"

"No," said Harry, feeling extremely stupid. He marveled that Crabbe and Goyle could handle feeling this way on a daily basis.

"Neither do I," answered Sirius. "I don't see your scar, and I don't see your rather distinctive hair."

"I tried to brush it."

"I don't know why you bothered, but that's not the point. This is not just a hat. It's a disguise. As you may have heard the other day, we're going undercover."

"What for?"

"Basically because you're in the most obvious place you could possibly be, except maybe for Ron's house, and I don't think you should be disturbed for the rest of the summer."

By "disturbed," Harry assumed that Sirius meant "taken back to the Dursleys and thrown under the stairs."

"Where are we going?"

"Muggle London. It's a big place, full of people, and if we don't use magic we'll be hard to track. Think of it as a holiday."

Harry had already been thinking of the suggested adventure as a holiday. He'd only been to Muggle London a few times, with the Dursleys of course, and then it had been no more than an extra opportunity for Dudley to flaunt what he had and Harry did not. Even if he was putting Sirius, and probably Remus, at unnecessary risk, and even if to some degree he deserved to be sitting in the prison the Dursleys had built for him, he could not help but think that a trip to London, with his parents' best friend, would be nothing short of _wonderful_.

"Are you up for it?" Sirius asked.

"Yes," said Harry firmly.

"Good." He pulled a rather Muggle-looking duffel bag from the air near where the hat had been. "Go put on your new clothes. Put the ones you're wearing, and the school books you need to write your summer essays, and anything you can't live without for a few weeks in there." Harry nodded, and returned quickly, clad in clothes that felt strange because they _fit_. After a brief whirlwind of activity, which consisted largely of Sirius and Remus tossing back and forth a collection of acronyms that Harry was unable to decode and was quite sure he never wanted to learn about, Sirius Apparated him to what he assumed was a tube station.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Heathrow, unless I've lost my touch."

"If we're already in London, why are we at an airport? Especially considering you can Apparate us somewhere else?"

"We can't Apparate directly to somewhere we expect to stay. The magical activity could be detected as odd. I don't imagine that anyone's actually looking for you if Dumbledore really did drop the spells for Remus and me, but we're better off safe."

"And they _are_ looking for you."

"Not bloody hard, but that's true, too."

"So, where are we going? Specifically?"

Sirius plucked a map from a nearby pile. "We're going to . . . Ealing Broadway. Then we're taking the Central Line to Bond Street, and the Jubilee Line to Waterloo, and the Bakerloo Line to Elephant and Castle, and the Northern Line to Moorgate, and the Hammersmith and City Line to Paddington, and the District Line to Gloucester Road."

"You do know that the Piccadily Line goes straight from here to Gloucester Road?" asked Harry as nonchalantly as he could, because some wizards, such as Ron's father, would have been unable to drag that detail from the depths of the map.

"Obviously." Sirius gave Harry a playful nudge.

"So are we doing this to cover our trail or just because you think it's funny?"

"A little of both." Sirius began walking toward a stopped train, and Harry trotted beside him. "Do you have something against it?"

"We don't have passes. We need them to get out."

Sirius pulled a pair of passes from his pocket. "Any problem other than that?"

They were already on the train by now, so Harry guessed that any objection on his part would have to be rather important to stop Sirius' plan. "No. I almost wish--" he broke off suddenly.

"Wish what?" The doors slammed shut in a manner oddly reminiscent of the door Uncle Vernon had put on Harry's room, and the train began to rock.

"Wish Ron was here. He'd get a kick out of this. He loves doing things the way Muggles do them."

Sirius smiled sadly. "Harry, I'm sorry that I couldn't throw you a real birthday party. I honestly am. You should have had Ron and Hermione and the rest of your friends, and a huge celebration, but there are so many things in the way."

Harry turned sharply to face his godfather. "The celebration this morning felt pretty real!"

"Oh, it was, but it's not what you should have had."

"I liked it. It was the best birthday I've ever had. The only one that came close was my eleventh." He nearly laughed at the memory.

"Was that the day you got your letter?"

Harry nodded. "They'd been trying to send it to me for a while, but my aunt and uncle wouldn't let me see them. We ended up on a boat in the middle of a storm, and when we got off I was lying there on the floor trying to sleep, when all of a sudden Hagrid burst in. It was wonderful-- he scared them almost as badly as you did yesterday."

"That was when he gave Dudley the pig's tail?"

"Right. Hey, is Uncle Vernon still a spider?"

"It should have worn off by now. I would have done something more permanent, but you didn't seem to want me to."

"You're in enough trouble already."

"A little more won't hurt."

"It could. If it's Dumbledore you upset."

"He has a sense of humor. An odd sense of humor, but a sense of humor nonetheless."

The train pulled to a stop at Ealing Broadway, and Harry and Sirius went off in search of their new train. Upon finding it, Harry began to study the map on the wall. "Where are we going after we get to Gloucester Road?"

"Believe it or not, there are still some people out there who owe me favors and are willing to let me cash in. We're staying in a flat near Gloucester Road-- just a bed-sit, nothing fancy, but the locks are on the inside of the doors. As far as I know."

"That's a good part of the city! A really good part. Do you know what Muggles pay to live there?"

"I wasn't going to take you into a slum, Harry."

"What are we going to do while we're there?"

"First, we're going to complete your disguise."

"What else do I need?"

"Contact lenses." Harry shrank back. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to put anything directly into his eyes. Maybe he could just take off his glasses without wearing contact lenses. He'd still be able to see. Sort of.

"At the very least, less distinctive glasses. Do you even like those?"

"Not at all."

"I suspected you didn't. Why do you wear them?"

"They're what I have. I've always hated them, but I never thought of changing them. I couldn't, at first, when I was living with the Dursleys all year. There wouldn't have been a point, anyway, since Dudley was always punching me in the face and breaking them. And then, when I found out I was famous, and that everything I did ended up in the newspaper, I thought that if I changed them, there would be stories about how vain I was getting, and how I wanted to attract Hermione's attention, and whatever else. Besides, my Dad wore glasses almost like this."

"That's true, but there was a big difference."

"What?" asked Harry interestedly.

"He _liked_ them."

"Why?"

"He thought they were amusing."

"_Why?"_

"Had a sense of humor stranger than Dumbledore's."

Harry considered this statement. "I guess I'm not as much like him as people say."

"You aren't his exact duplicate. The physical resemblance is striking, but you couldn't be mistaken for him at the same age, not up close anyway. It's not just that you have Lily's eyes-- your posture is tighter, and you have a set to your jaw that he never had, not even toward the end. The scar, obviously. He had a few freckles that you don't. You share a lot of his personality traits, too, but you're more careful about some things, and less experienced in others-- you're Harry, you're not James, part two."

"I knew I couldn't be exactly like him."

"Of course not. And no one's asking you to be exactly like him."

"Why wouldn't they? He was practically perfect."

"You don't remember him at all. How can you possibly say that?"

"Well, he was everything good about me, plus smarter, and a better leader, I mean, he was Head Boy, he was better at being a friend, there was just nothing wrong with him. Perfect and noble."

Sirius laughed his dog laugh, the one that sounded like a bark. "I don't think it's fair to say that he was everything that's good about you. Some of the good in you comes directly from your mother, and some of it's all your own."

"But still--"

"I can't swear to his intelligence or yours. I know that you have a fantastic gift for Defense Against Dark Arts that I've never heard of anyone else having, your father included. And I sincerely can't figure out why you don't think you're as good at being a friend as he is."

"It's not that, exactly. I'd do anything for Ron and Hermione, but sometimes I just _need_ them."

"That's how it works."

"But I literally wouldn't be alive if I didn't have them. It's not only fighting trolls together or Hermione dropping her life to teach me a summoning charm, it's that I need to be patted on the head and told that they like me. The first summer after I went to Hogwarts, Dobby stopped my letters to try to keep me from going back. I felt horrible, thinking about how I didn't have any friends. And then we have me acting like an idiot, calling Hermione last week."

"You did exactly the right thing."

"They shouldn't have to take care of me all the time. I'm always getting dragged into things, and they get dragged with me."

"Again, that's how it works." Harry began to reject Sirius' statement, but Sirius would not allow him to interrupt. "You haven't noticed that I _need_, as you put it, Remus? You didn't see him keeping me from doing one stupid thing after another in the Shrieking Shack that first night we met? Would you like to hear about how when I first got to his house this summer, he practically had to spoon-feed me and tuck me into bed? This is how it works, Harry, for you and for your father and for everyone else. Most of what you know about your father comes from his reputation, correct?"

"Correct."

"The reputation and the man aren't the same. Your father wasn't larger than life. He was _life_, but so are you. I don't want you competing with the ghost of someone who never existed. It can't be done."

Harry was slightly embarrassed at having provoked such an impassioned speech from Sirius, and was glad when they had to switch lines again. That would provide a good opportunity to change the topic of conversation, although the previous topic had followed them on and off several trains. "What are we doing besides getting contact lenses?"

"You're getting clothes. You're getting dropped off at a department store after I feed the salesperson a story about our house burning down and your needing an entire new wardrobe. Then you get whatever you want."

"That's a lot of money."

"And worth every knut-- er, pound."

"If you say so."

"I do. You do understand that just about every child in this country takes properly fitting clothing for granted, right?"

Harry shrugged. He had often felt that way while growing up, spending his time being teased for wearing baggy hand-me-downs, but that had been the Dursleys' fault, not Sirius' fault. Sirius had spent that time in a situation far worse than Harry's; and Harry was now nearly an adult, old enough to buy his own clothes. "You really don't have to buy clothes for me. I mean, I wear robes at Hogwarts anyway."

"Do you think Hermione's parents, or Ron's parents, should buy clothes for them?"

"I don't want you to--"

"Don't want me to what?"

"Do all of this for me. It's not your fault that I haven't always had nice clothes. It's the Dursleys' fault. You shouldn't try to make up for what they did."

"I'm not. I'm not even trying to make up for what I did, this time. I'm trying to make my fifteen-year-old, underage, not old enough to make these decisions for himself no matter what he might think, godson wear clothing that actually fits him. That's it. Understand?"

"Yes," said Harry, leaning back in pretended fear.

"Good. So you get your eyes examined and you get to go clothes shopping. Is this still the best birthday you've ever had?"

"Absolutely."

"Better than seeing Dudley with a pig's tail?" They were changing trains again, and Harry wondered how much magic would be required to make the recorded voice say something other than "mind the gap."

"Better than that. _Dudley's_ eleventh birthday was pretty great, too, though."

"Why?"

"Oh, we went to the zoo. They couldn't work out a way to leave me behind, and I was thrilled. I'd never been before. I ended up accidentally letting a boa constrictor out of its case. That was when I found out I could talk to snakes."

"Want to go to the zoo now?" Sirius asked suddenly.

"What?"

"You don't have to talk to the snakes, but we're already in London."

Harry had never considered returning to the zoo, but the Hammersmith and City Line _did_ go right past Regent's Park, and Regent's Park _was_ the home of the London Zoo. "Okay," he agreed willingly.

The walk through the park to the zoo was not inconsiderable-- Dudley would never have survived it-- but Harry decided that if he became tired that would only mean he'd lessen his chances of dreaming that night, or, worse, awakening Sirius while in the throes of a dream. Besides, Sirius told a wonderful story about soaring over the park at night on a broomstick, just barely staying hidden, that reminded Harry yet again of the strange ways in which the wizard and Muggle worlds overlapped.

Somehow, they found themselves in the reptile house soon after entering the zoo. (The ticket-sellers had not, as Harry had feared, recognized him from the incident of four years earlier and refused to admit him.) The building was not especially crowded, and Harry was far from being certain that his presence near the homes of the snakes was a good idea.

"I want to see it again," he finally declared.

They approached the darkened corridor filled with glass cases and signs encouraging patrons to "Go Wild at the London Zoo" but not to knock on the animals' cages.

"That was it. Right there," Harry half-whispered. As if in a trance he walked back up to the glass, as if minutes, not years, had passed since his last visit. A sleeping snake suddenly raised its head, and most definitely looked directly at Harry.

_Hello_, it hissed.

Harry glanced around. No one but Sirius was paying him any mind. "Hello," he answered, not knowing if he was speaking English or Parseltongue.

_You are the one. You have returned._

"The one?"

_You released the snake that used to live here._

"Well, yes, that was me. Did he get to Brazil?"

_I don't know. It is very isolated in here_.

"I'm sorry. It must be miserable."

_You know what you can do._

"I can't. It would be too dangerous. For me, and for you."

_It never hurts to ask._

"I really wish I could help you."

_Think nothing of it._

"May I-- may I ask you something?"

_There's no one else here for me to talk to._

"Well, that's it, actually. How did you know it was me? How did you know you could talk to me, or that I could talk to you?"

_It's a feeling._

"Like a radar?"

_A radar?_

"Did you know when I walked into the building? Could you feel me getting closer?"

_No. I knew when I saw you that I had seen you before, not I, but another snake. All snakes are one, in a certain way. I wish I could explain to you._

"Do you know how many people in the world can talk to you like this?"

_Just two. You and one other._

Harry's heart was pounding. "Do you know where he is?"

_No._

"Harry! Harry!" Sirius interrupted, grabbing Harry by the shoulder. Harry knew, without looking around, that other zoo visitors were starting to notice the unusual behavior of the snake.

"But Sirius," Harry began to protest, when the mildly shaken expression on Sirius' face made him stop. Waving goodbye over his shoulder to the snake, Harry hastened from the building before turning again to Sirius. "Am I speaking English now?"

"Yes. Harry, that was amazing! I've never seen-- nobody's ever seen--"

"A real live Parselmouth."

"Well, yes. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing really. He knew about the boa constrictor, and wanted me to let him out. I asked how snakes know that I can talk to them before I do, and he said something about, I don't know, a general snake over-consciousness. He said that there are only two people in the world who can speak to him. I asked if he knew where the other one was, and he said no, and that was when you pulled me away."

"I think you've just increased the knowledge of the magical world, but you don't need to worry about where that other Parselmouth is right at this moment. What good is it going to do you to know?"

"We could send Cornelius Fudge over for a visit."

"I appreciate the irony, but it's not a very realistic plan."

"What is a realistic plan?"

"Going to the restaurant for lunch."

Harry had to admit that that was about as realistic as plans got, and he thoroughly enjoyed his meal, in part because comparisons to his life at age eleven were at the forefront of his mind. He had everything now that he'd wanted then, even the things he had not known he'd wanted-- and deserved. He wished that he could trade it back, though, and in return send Voldemort into exile once more, a permanent exile. The trade he wanted to make was an impossible one, he knew. Maybe he should just enjoy his dessert-- his own dessert, not Dudley's reject.

After lunch, Harry and Sirius wandered back through the zoo, not paying overmuch attention to the animals until an elk crossed its yard and planted its feet atop the low wall that separated it from its admirers. It craned its neck to reach above the iron bars (iron bars like the ones in the Dursleys' house) and, without provocation, nuzzled Sirius' cheek with its nose. Unperturbed, Sirius gave it a pat on the neck.

"Sirius?" asked Harry, as he gave the elk a scratch behind its ear, "Can it tell that you're an" he dropped his voice "animagus?"

"Not unless it's magical. And I've never heard of a magical elk."

"But why?"

"Because it's friendly and it realized I'm a wonderful person?"

"That's all?"

"That's all. It doesn't know that I could turn into a dog and kick it into next week." Harry surprised himself by snickering, and Sirius turned to him, outraged. "You think I couldn't take it? It doesn't even eat meat." The idea struck Harry as at once completely Sirius and completely ridiculous from a Muggle point of a view, and his snickering turned to full-blown laughter. The smile almost hurt as it hit his eyes for the first time in a long, long time.


	9. If At First You Don't Succeed

**Part 9: If At First You Don't Succeed**

The month following Harry's second trip to the zoo was one of the happiest periods of his life. Sirius insisted that Harry work on his summer assignments for school, but this was hardly a detraction from Harry's happiness. He had never not wanted to write his summer essays; the Dursleys had simply made it difficult for him to do so.

While Harry was not his friend Hermione, and had no desire to memorize his schoolbooks a full year ahead of time-- OWL exams or no-- he did find the material interesting, and made all the more interesting by the distinct lack of time constraints. He half-wondered if he should be checked into Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries when he considered the sheer enjoyment he got from sitting at his desk by the window and simply _doing his homework_, as if he were a perfectly normal boy, with a perfectly normal godfather who was willing and eager to help Harry with the trickier questions.

Sirius, for his part, was doing a lot of sorting and analyzing of lists of names and places. He and Harry had a tacit understanding that Harry would not ask for details about the work; they both knew that he had a very good idea as to what it was in general, and that he had no need to learn more. Remus found his way to the flat to exchange information with Sirius on a regular basis. Twice Sirius and Harry had returned to Remus' home for a day so that Sirius could speak to Dumbledore and his other contacts and promise that, yes, he was staying with Remus, and no, he had not attempted to see Harry more than once that summer.

The time not spent working was even better. Harry and Sirius spent more than a few hours simply wandering the streets of Muggle London, which provided a plethora of things to do and see. Particularly wonderful for Harry was the afternoon spent in Hamley's toy store. He had never visited the store, but some of his earliest memories involved boxes and bags bearing its name being carried into the house by the dozen for Dudley's birthday or Christmas. The small desires Harry had for toys and games in his old age were mostly for wizarding toys and games, but the concept of being escorted into the famous store and told to purchase anything and everything he wanted (bearing in mind that most electronic toys would not function in Hogwarts' magic-rich environment) was worth more to him, in that it indicated that someone loved him, than any material gift Dudley had ever been given.

For the first time since learning that he was a wizard, then, Harry did not anxiously count down the days until his return to Hogwarts. In fact, he was almost caught by surprise when Remus entered the flat late one evening, dropped a pile of spellbooks in front of Harry, and asked if he was ready to begin the new term.

"I guess. It starts-- the Hogwarts Express isn't coming tomorrow?"

"Actually, it is."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "But I didn't get my owl."

"Naturally, since you aren't officially here. Your owl was intercepted." Remus pulled a slip of paper containing a note about the time of the train's departure and a booklist from his pocket and deposited them atop the pile of books. They were just as he had expected them to be, with the exception of a comment printed at the bottom of the note in handwriting he recognized as Professor McGonagall's.

_Mr. Potter--_

_Please come directly to my office when you arrive at Hogwarts. There is a matter which we need to discuss briefly. I promise that you will not miss the Sorting or the feast._

_Minerva McGonagall_

He pointed at the paper. "What does that mean?" he asked Remus. "I haven't done anything wrong. Except…"

"She doesn't say you've done anything wrong. She just says that she wants to see you."

"She never wants to see me unless I've done something wrong."

"I doubt that."

"Well, she wanted to see me that time you told her I fainted on the train," Harry replied slowly, while not successfully eliminating the slight trace of bitterness that crept into his voice.

"Harry, I had to tell her how the dementors affected you so she could protect you from them. You weren't the only student who passed out that year, although you did have the best excuse."

"I know. I didn't mean anything by it. I just wish I knew what she wanted to talk to me about this time. Couldn't she have just told me?"

"Apparently not." Harry eyed Remus critically. He had a way of seeming to know more than he said. The year that he had been Harry's professor, of course, he _had_ known more than he had said: more about how Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, more about Harry's past, more about the methods utilized by the rule-breakers and practical jokers of the school, more about the Whomping Willow and the ghosts that haunted the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.

"Do you have any idea about what she might want?"

Remus sighed. He knew perfectly well that Harry was thinking about all the things he had neglected to mention in the past, usually with a better reason than the one he had at the moment. "I do have a suspicion, but I don't want to tell you," he admitted reluctantly.

"Why not?"

"Because I might be wrong, and because she may have a reason for not telling you. She may want you to make some sort of a decision without discussing it with your friends first. But I can promise you, Harry, that if there was a real problem, there would be a form letter notifying your parent or guardian. Dumbledore probably would have gotten personally involved and told Sirius. Has he?"

Harry looked at Sirius, who gave him a sarcastic glance. "Yes, Harry, Dumbledore owled me and told me you'd been expelled for tormenting your Potions Master and I forgot to mention it."

"Do you know what she wants?"

"No."

"Not even a suspicion?"

"No. I honestly have no idea what Remus is thinking about." He glanced at his old friend, who was giving him a vaguely innocent look.

"Did you see the letter from Ron, Harry?" Remus asked, ignoring the unspoken questions still being directed at him.

Harry looked back at the books, and, sure enough, among the school supplies was a letter addressed in Ron's untidy writing.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you're okay and I'm glad you liked your birthday present. (I'm trying to decide whether I should hex one of the twins or Ginny first after what they did to the card. Maybe I'll just hex Percy. It's always a safe bet that he deserves it.) I know you couldn't really send letters this summer, so I can't wait to talk to you in person. Hermione and I met in Diagon Alley to get our supplies today (Monday). She's worried about you, too. She's still writing to Krum practically every day. I don't see what she likes in him. It would be different if she was Quidditch fan, but she barely knows a chaser from a beater. Oh, she says she'll bring Hedwig back to school for you._

_The best thing about Diagon Alley was that Fred and George bought me some new dress robes! No lace. I guess their joke business is starting up again. They must have some kind of backer; but they're being pretty vague about it. Mum isn't pleased, but I think she's resigned that it's the only thing they really want to do. They don't have the marks to join the Ministry, anyway. At least they aren't doing anything as dangerous as what Bill and Charlie do. That's why she's putting up with it at all, I think._

_Oh, did Hermione tell you she's a prefect? Big surprise, right? I hope she doesn't get to be more fond of rules than she already is. If she does, we'll just have to loosen her up again, huh?_

_Don't let the Muggles get you down. Or are you even staying with the Muggles? Mum said Dumbledore seemed sort of suspicious when he said you couldn't come stay with us at all this summer. Professor Lupin said he knew how to make sure you'd get this-- we saw him in Diagon Alley. Then Hermione explained some stuff that she says I shouldn't put in writing. She's right, but I almost wrote it anyway just so I could show her and make her mad._

_See you on the Express._

_Ron_

"I can't believe it's been so long since I've seen him," Harry commented, putting the letter down.

"Well, now you can see each other constantly for a few days and get sick of each other," answered Sirius.

"Unless I really do get thrown out for tormenting my Potions Master."

"Have you been tormenting him?"

"Not on purpose. Well, not usually on purpose."

Sirius grinned. "Glad to hear it."

"He thinks I've done a lot of stuff I haven't."

"That reminds me," put in Remus, "now that I'm not your professor I'd really love to know if you actually took that boomslang skin from his office when you were a second year."

Harry briefly considered trading that information for whatever theory Remus had about the meaning of McGonagall's note, but settled for answering "No, but I know who did."

Sirius' grin broadened. "Were you involved at all?"

Harry would have been tempted to say "yes" even if the answer had been "no" in the face of his godfather's obvious eagerness. "You could say that."

"Come on. Details."

"You worry about me enough as it is. Why would you want to hear about something pretty seriously dumb that I did once?"

"I don't care what you were doing with the boomslang skin. I can probably guess. I just want to know how you and Ron and Hermione got it."

"What makes you think this has anything to do with them? I know lots of other people at school."

"Okay. How did you and your un-named acquaintances, who I'm sure have graduated and cannot be incriminated, manage to steal something from Severus Snape's office?"

"I was the diversion. I threw a firework during potions so that we knew for sure where he'd be while someone else went into his office and took the boomslang skin and the bicorn horn."

"Bicorn horn, too? So you _were_ making polyjuice potion. What for?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. I hope it was fun."

"In a way, it was. We weren't just doing it as prank. We didn't find out much, though. Not from that. New subject."

"Pick one."

"I want to hear a story about one of your pranks from when you were at Hogwarts. But not one of your good ones. One that went wrong."

"I don't know if there were any like that," began Sirius, but Remus wasn't bothering to hide the fact that he was snickering. "They aren't appropriate for a child your age," Sirius amended.

"Why? I'm the same age you were at the time."

"Shouldn't you be in bed? You have to catch the Express tomorrow."

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep without a bedtime story," answered Harry, giving Sirius the saddest eyes he could muster, which was easier now that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Sirius shook his head. "All right. Fine. But you have to be in bed before you can hear a bedtime story."

"Fine." Harry walked into the bathroom to put on his pajamas and take out his contact lenses, which were not nearly as annoying as he had expected them to be. When he returned, he threw himself into his bed and smiled at Sirius and Remus. "Well?" he asked eagerly. He had at first been joking when he asked for a bedtime story, but now he was thinking that a bedtime story was something else he had never had, at least not since he could remember.

"Okay," said Sirius. "A disastrous prank, preferably one that embarrasses Moony."

"Hey!" Remus apparently did not approve of that plan.

"Hmm. We almost had a disaster last month, right before we picked you up."

"That wasn't so bad," Remus corrected. "We just had to get our rhythm back."

"That's true. We didn't have any problems collecting Harry. It would have been even more fun if he'd wanted me to hex his family a little more creatively."

"Are you mad about that?" Harry interrupted suddenly.

"Mad? No, Harry, of course not. It was your decision, and a good one." Sirius looked slightly guilty.

"You don't have to tell me a story. I was joking," Harry added.

It was Remus that answered him, and quickly. "I'll tell you about the first prank the four of us ever pulled together. That was before we'd had any practice." Sirius looked as if he might protest, and Remus, as a pre-emptive strike, ordered him to get in bed, too. Deciding that his audience was properly controlled, he sat down on the third bed and started to tell his story.

"We'd only been at Hogwarts for a month or so when this happened, and in some ways we didn't even know each other very well yet. You know that when you first start boarding school your friendships seem to become very deep very quickly, but you do need time to process everything you've learned about each other, and we hadn't had that yet. It didn't help that neither Peter nor I had very much experience with friendship at all. My parents were forced to start isolating me from other children when I was four years old, and Peter always had… difficulty… making friends. Your father and Sirius, as I'm guessing you know, had known each other since they could talk and had already sworn each other to various pacts of eternal loyalty.

"Now, James and Sirius were born troublemakers. They had the invisibility cloak, and they had a cauldronfull of ideas that they'd been thinking up since they had first realized that they'd eventually be going off to Hogwarts together. For some reason neither one of them ever worried about being a squib."

Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes.

"They got to Hogwarts and the first thing they wanted to do, besides work out how to sneak into the kitchens-- you do know how to sneak into the kitchens, don't you?"

"Of course he does," Sirius answered for Harry. "He sent me a whole ham last time he was there. And he has several loyal friends among the house elf population."

Remus smiled. "House elves make useful friends. At any rate, with the cloak, they had figured out how to get into the kitchens inside a week. Sirius will tell you that it was their innate cleverness that got them inside so fast, but he'll be lying when he does."

"Do you want to lose your story telling privileges?" Sirius interrupted.

"Do you want a silencing charm put on you?"

"You think you can out-charm me?"

"I think Buckbeak has more charm than you, Padfoot, but that's not the point. The point is," he turned back to Harry, "that Sirius and James, having achieved their first goal so quickly, became all the more determined to explore the Forbidden Forest. They started causing disruptions on a daily basis-- the cloak doesn't fool many of the magical creatures that live there, and the two of them were always pulling their wands and knocking it off anyway. So it isn't really a surprise that they were having daily meetings with Hagrid as he told them off yet again.

"They weren't close friends of Hagrid-- Lily was the one he adored, and the reverent tone he has for James now grew out of that, as well as out of James' loyalty to Dumbledore and some other things that hadn't been proven when he was eleven years old and causing as much trouble as is humanly possible. Still, even though their relationship with Hagrid wasn't what it would be eventually, they became rather fond of him. It's very hard not to like Hagrid."

"Unless you're a Slytherin," Harry added.

"Unless you're Slytherin, which none of the people in question were. Now, because Hagrid isn't a fully trained wizard, occasionally groundskeeping chores come up that he can't be allowed to do himself. You need OWLs and NEWTs, for example, to be allowed to use the equipment and spells that you would need if, hypothetically, a couple of giant squids were to have a territorial battle in the lake and cause it to overflow, and the various strange magical properties in the lake were to cause a near-ecological collapse on the Hogwarts grounds.

"Un-doing the damage that had been done was a very complex process that I had very little appreciation for at the time. None of the students had much appreciation for it, and they had even less appreciation for the witch who was hired to do the job-- I believe her name was Laodamia Fitzpatrick. Laodamia grew tired of the students walking across areas that she that she was attempting to rejuvenate on their ways to Care of Magical Creatures or the Quidditch pitch. She stopped using signs or verbal warnings and started using jinxes and hexes. She even bewitched the carts that went back and forth across the grounds spreading seed and potions to chase any students that got too close to them. And if a cart caught a student, it would run him or her over. It wouldn't do permanent damage, but it wasn't pleasant, either.

"Hagrid went to Laodamia and suggested that she find a better way to handle the students, and she snapped at him and said something about his not being fully qualified as a wizard. Naturally, that upset him, and James and Peter happened to be watching.

"You don't have to scowl like that, Harry. Laodamia was never a Hogwarts student herself, and she was probably very intimidated. It's hard to feel like you belong at Hogwarts if you come in to do a certain job, knowing no one. Hogwarts is really a very small community, even if it has a broader base than most wizarding schools do. She probably felt like everyone-- students, faculty, staff-- was ganging up on her when it really hadn't been _her_ fault that Hagrid wasn't allowed to do the job. She also wasn't very much older than the oldest students-- most of them called out to her by her first name and made the least respectful comments they could think of-- and was anxious to prove herself.

"Now, James, having seen how upset Hagrid was, went right to someone he knew was just crazy enough to help him take revenge. Sirius. The two of them hatched a plan to bewitch the carts again, this time to obey their commands, or at least to torment Laodamia. The school was under a strictly enforced curfew in part because it _is_ a school, in part because of the condition of the grounds, and in part because Voldemort was gaining power. Nonetheless, James and Sirius thought that the best time to do their worst would be in the middle of the night. Sirius in particular also thought it would be much more fun that way.

"Peter had been with James when the idea began, and James didn't think it would be fair not to include him, particularly since Peter made such a show of wanting to be friends with both James and Sirius. An extra pair of eyes and hands are always useful when you're trying to bewitch half a dozen large pieces of machinery, anyway. It's so useful that they decided that it was absolutely necessary to include their fourth roommate in the plan as well. So when I came into the dormitory that afternoon, Sirius was sitting cross-legged on my bed and just grinning at me. Absolutely, thoroughly, completely smiling in a manner that screamed that he knew he was going to get whatever it was that he wanted.

"He stopped smiling when I looked back at him, and asked how I felt about people who insulted other people over things they couldn't help and made them cry. He knew well enough how I felt about that, because I had a habit of biting off more than I could chew by trying to defend my classmates."

"Even if he never bothered to defend himself."

"Shut up, Padfoot. Sirius and James were the same way, even if they did like to cause trouble and fool around. That was a large part of the reason we got along so well even though we hadn't known each other for very long. Sirius somehow got me to agree to go along with whatever it was he was planning before I knew what it was. I tried to back out when I got the details, but James jumped out from behind the curtains on the next bed and grabbed me, and threw me down next to Sirius. Then the two of them sat on either side of me and lectured me on how much fun we were going to have, while we were doing a good deed. It was hard enough not to be convinced to do whatever idiotic thing Sirius wanted to do, but when you added James to the mix, it became impossible.

"I was petrified of breaking school rules. I knew that Dumbledore and the other faculty members who had admitted me were sticking their necks out, and I felt that I owed it to them to toe the line. But I couldn't very well explain that to James and Sirius and Peter. Don't say it, Sirius, or you _will_ get that silencing charm."

"Who, me? I'm not saying anything. I'm waiting for you to get to the actual prank."

"We went out that night, or rather, early the next morning. I was certain that I'd be expelled the next day and I'd have ruined the chances of all werewolves, ever, to receive formal wizarding training. I was also fairly sure that it would be worth it, just for this one night when I had friends, partners. Peter was even more frightened than I was, but he admired Sirius and James and wanted to gain their respect. Naturally, we were using the invisibility cloak, which will cover four eleven-year-olds, even if two of them are tall and lanky. But the other two, in this case, were frightened out of their minds and were having an awful time staying in step under the cloak. There was so much jerking around that no one noticed that the cloak became hung up on the front gate of the castle and slipped off of us all.

"Luckily, we did manage to notice that the prefect on patrol had come to look out the door, which looked rather odd because parts of it were invisible. James had the presence of mind to perform a little charm-- it might have been Wingardium Leviosa-- that got the cloak out of the prefect's line of sight. The prefect walked away, scratching his head, and not seeing us crouched down by the ground near a secret door that opens right next to the front gates.

"We rushed out to find the carts, but they were spread all over the grounds, doing their work, and we had hardly learned any spells. We tried different strange combinations on each cart we came to, until it threatened to fight back and we went in search of the next. The sky was getting light when we were through, and we didn't think a single spell had stuck.

"Sirius went stomping (this was well before his padfooted phase began) through our secret door. As I told you, his and James' first accomplishment had been the discovery of the kitchens. This door, then, was connected to the kitchens, and when Sirius slammed it open he nearly flattened a house elf.

"The elf started screaming, and Sirius tried to apologize but wound up panicking. He tried to put his hands over her mouth, and that only made her more frantic. A house elf has more control over her magic than your average first year wizarding student, and she pulled herself free and began to scream even more loudly. She calmed down--"

"Remus and James calmed her down."

"James and I calmed her down, and we thought we'd managed to do it before she'd attracted the attention of anyone but some other house elves. We were wrong. A new prefect was on duty, a Slytherin sixth year who recognized us as a gang of Gryffindors and was thrilled by the prospect of turning us in. I think I started shaking on the spot. I certainly looked nervous enough that he gave me a personalized lecture about how Gryffindor was the house of crybabies.

"That gave Peter enough time to remember that his older sister had told him about this particular prefect. Some story about him and the girlfriend of the Slytherin Quidditich captain. He whispered it to Sirius, who suggested to the prefect that it might be worth his while to let us pass this one time. It didn't take long for the prefect to agree. You know how hard it is to argue with Sirius.

"He let us pass, but we had already been running late and the teachers were beginning to stir. We still had the cloak, but we were awkward and took up too much space. We decided to stand in a corner of the hall until it became late enough for us to have a legitimate reason for being there.

"Unfortunately, when we leaned into the corner, we discovered another secret exit. We were thrown outside once more, and it was far too bright for us to return to the front gates, especially since we were far from them. We were directly beneath Gryffindor Tower, in fact.

"We pushed back against the wall, hoping to get back inside, even hoping that we would be deposited inside our tower instead of outside it.

"We learned to be careful what we hoped for. We ended up inside the tower, but inside the girls' section of the tower. They were awake and getting ready for breakfast, and sneaking past them was almost impossible. I'm still not sure how we did it. We got back to our room just in time to go to breakfast, not having slept at all, and not having accomplished our goal of getting revenge on Laodamia.

"We yawned and sulked all the way through breakfast and we barely made it through our first class. Then we went outside for a flying lesson, and there was one of the carts. It had an image of a dead dragon projected onto its front half, as if the dragon had been run over; and the lettering on its back half had been re-arranged to say that if this was how it dealt with dragons, imagine how it dealt with students. I think it was one of James' attempts that resulted in that.

"Laodamia left the cart like that all day, and she and the students came to more of an understanding; if nothing else, she had a sense of humor and so did they. We came to more of an understanding among ourselves, too. We learned how far we should push each other, and how much we could count on each other. So the prank might not have been a total failure. Sorry, Harry."

But Harry was smiling, with his eyes closed, as he lay on the bed. "No, that was what I wanted." It had been, too. He was still sometimes bothered by the thought of his father, and even his godfather, as someone who did everything flawlessly. He pretended to drift off to sleep, because he did not feel like discussing the story any further, but in convincing Sirius and Remus that he was asleep, became an inadvertent eavesdropper.

"Why did you leave Wormtail in the story?" asked Sirius with disgust after rising from his own bed and checking to see that Harry was indeed unconscious of the world around him.

"He was there."

"So? Hey, Harry, want to hear about the man who murdered your parents?"

"Not the man who murdered his parents. The boy who was one of his father's best friends. He wasn't evil incarnate, Padfoot. If he had been, none of us would have trusted him."

"I still don't think you should have done it that way."

"Then thank you for not saying that earlier."

Sirius brushed the thank-you off. "Have you ever thought about what our main problem was that night?"

"Sure. We couldn't remove the illusion charm so we couldn't hit the carts straight on, even if we were using the charms and hexes properly."

"You know what the most famous use of that illusion charm is?..."

Harry really did drift off to sleep then, but was unsurprised when, the next morning, Sirius and Remus spent the journey to King's Cross Station discussing the possibility of changing the color of a bench on Platform 9 ¾ while standing on Platform 9. Harry was still wearing his disguise, and was startled when one of his fellow fifth year Gryffindors, Lavender Brown, walked past him without any sign of recognition.

"You aren't going all the way to King's Cross with me, are you?" Harry asked Sirius.

"What? Embarrassed?"

"No, but _you're_ wanted."

"People are about as likely to notice me as they are to notice you right now, which is to say, not at all. And I'm not going onto the platform."

"It's safe, Harry, really," Remus added. "He doesn't look like his wanted posters."

Harry nodded his agreement, but privately thought that Sirius' behavior was too risky, especially since his chief motivation was a desire to prove that he could compensate for an illusion charm. But as Harry sometimes thought Sirius worried too much, he decided to trust him now that he wasn't worrying. Besides, he and Remus both looked like they were having the times of their lives when they began to mutter a charm beneath their breath. His eyes were drawn from them, though, when Platform 9 ¾ seemed to flicker into view before the barrier had been breached.

"Sirius?" he asked.

"I'm not admitting to anything."

"You did that?"

"The Muggles couldn't see it. Just wizards, and just for a second."

"Sirius!"

"How much do you want to get on the Express?"

"I still have three years to go."

"That's not what I meant. What if we get out of here, and pretend we never were here, and Apparate you to school?"

Harry, who had been put on edge by the flicker, by Lavender's failure to see him, and by the prospect of returning to Hogwarts, readily agreed. The three left without ever entering the wizarding section of the station or seeing the headline of the Daily Prophet, which showed the image of the Dark Mark hovering above a very familiar cottage-like house.


	10. On Eating Vegetables

**Part 10: On Eating Vegetables**

Harry regretted his decision not to walk through the barrier between platforms nine and ten almost as soon as he made it. He was only prolonging the inevitable, and his anxiety grew with every second of time that passed before it would be late enough to Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk to Hogwarts to start the new term.

_If I had just got on the train instead of panicking, I'd be with Ron and Hermione right now,_ he thought to himself. _That would be one less thing to worry about. Not that I'm worrying about seeing them. They're my friends, and it won't be any different than after any other summer, will it? They might even have an idea what McGonagall wants with me._

After a few hours of this, and of Remus and Sirius trying in vain to distract him and apologizing for giving him the option of not getting on the train, they Apparated to Hogsmeade, but instead of simply walking to the school, as the students did on Hogsmeade weekends, they crept into the basement of Honeydukes' Sweetshop.

"This passage still works?" Sirius inquired.

"It did last year. Couldn't you break the spells protecting it, anyway? It's only Filch that's in charge of keeping students out of the tunnels he knows about."

Sirius laughed. "No, I can't break the spells. That's the point. Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. Voldemort himself can't get in; I certainly can't."

At first, they walked along slowly, but their pace quickened, and they found themselves inside the castle more quickly than they had intended to. "That's good. You'll have time to get your things upstairs and put robes on," said Remus, making the trunk visible for the first time since they had left the flat in London. "Then you can go talk to Professor McGonagall." Harry nodded. "Have a good term. Don't look so worried."

"I'm not worried. Bye. Bye, Sirius."

"Bye, Harry. Are you sure you're all right?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure I can get the trunk through the opening," he answered, gesturing at the secret door.

"That we can help you with. Open it up." Harry did so. Sirius compacted the trunk and slid it through the narrow space that had formed between the wall and a statue. He then muttered a spell to return the trunk, and Hedwig's cage, which was still bound to the trunk, to their usual sizes. They had just closed the opening when a startled voice cried

"POTTER!"

"Professor McGonagall. I--"

"We had an owl saying you weren't on the Express, and Dumbledore suspected-- with the awful news-- you've seen today's _Daily Prophet_?"

Harry shook his head, and his eyes strayed to the copy that she held in her hand as she frantically ordered a nearby Nearly Headless Nick to bring Dumbledore and any other professors he could find to the scene.

"There are better ways to find out, but you do need to see it." She handed the folded newspaper to Harry, and he opened it with trepidation. He nearly dropped it when he saw the front page photograph. Now it was no wonder that she looked as emotional and out of control as she ever did. The Dark Mark was bad enough, but he knew the house over which it floated. He had been there only a few times; still, he was able to place it without question. "They didn't find a body, but Death Eaters are not known for leaving victims alive," she said, her voice faltering slightly.

"No one was home."

Her gaze became so piercing that Harry was sure he had imagined the vulnerability he had perceived a moment before. "Do you know that for a fact, Potter?" she asked, carefully enunciating each word.

"I know that the person who lives there wasn't home."

"And how would you know that?"

"I, er," Harry was not sure how to explain.

"Potter. Let me rephrase this. When was the last time you saw Professor Lupin?"

"A few minutes ago," Harry answered honestly.

"He got you into the building, obviously. Anyone else?"

Harry hesitated, and was given a brief stay of execution when Professor Dumbledore and most of the rest of Hogwarts' faculty (including, to Harry's dismay, Professor Snape) appeared in the corridor.

"Harry, are you all right?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes."

"He also claims to have seen Remus within the last few minutes." The postures of most of the professors relaxed visibly, although Harry could have sworn that Snape looked disappointed.

However, Snape did not sound anything but silky when he spoke. "So, Potter, where's the secret passage that your responsible _former_ professor used to get you into the castle without passing the front gate?"

Dumbledore placed a restraining hand on Snape's upper arm, but his eyes were hard when he looked back at Harry. "Yes, Harry, why don't you open the secret passage for us?"

Seeing that he had no choice, and hoping that Fred and George would eventually forgive him, Harry reached for his trunk.

"Potter! Now!" Snape commanded.

"I can't open the passageway without my wand, _Sir_," Harry answered with as much sarcasm as he dared use.

"Here." McGonagall handed him her own wand, which Harry supposed was something of an honor on some level, and he tapped the hump of the statue of the old crone.

"Dissendium." Harry watched the passageway open and a certain amount of his freedom die. Meanwhile, a collective gasp went up from the assembled faculty members.

"Run down there and bring back your escorts," said McGonagall in a voice that left no room for argument.

"_All_ of your escorts, Harry," Dumbledore added.

Harry scrambled inside. As he had suspected, he did not have to go far to find Sirius and Remus, who had stopped to listen to the conversation.

"Are you coming?"

"Do you see us as having a choice?" asked Sirius.

"Who's out there?" asked Remus.

"Everyone," answered Harry regretfully. "Almost everyone. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, Flitwick, Sinastra, Hagrid, a few I don't really know."

"Thank you." Remus climbed out of the passage behind Harry, looking and feeling guilty as sin. He was startled to note that the expressions on the faces of his former professors and colleagues were nearly universally relieved.

"You haven't seen this either?" Minerva McGonagall asked him, handing him a newspaper. He grimaced.

"Were they after me or Harry?" he asked.

"As best as we can tell, just you. They thought there was a small possibility Harry would be there, but you were enough to make the trip. Anyone else they got would be icing on the cake," Dumbledore answered.

Remus might have said more, but startled gasps were beginning to resound through the assembled group. "That's Sirius Black," someone said. Several other voices began to protest that he was all right, but they were drowned out by the loudest voice of all.

"YEH BASTARD!" shouted Hagrid, seeming even more giant-like than usual in the small corridor. "YEH BASTARD. I'LL DO WHAT THE DEMENTORS COULDN'T!" He reached Sirius in one long stride, quite obviously intent on ripping Sirius' limbs from his body. Several wands were instantly raised in Sirius' defense, not least of which was his own, but he obviously felt hesitant to use force against another human being, even one who presented a very real threat to his physical well-being.

No wands or shouts could dissuade Hagrid, but Harry's throwing himself into the half-giant's body gave him pause. "HARRY, D'YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS?"

"Yes, Hagrid. Wait, listen before you do anything."

"YEH AREN' TELLIN' ME YEH BELIEVE HE DIDN' BETRAY YER PARENTS--"

"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I BELIEVE!"

"YEAH, WELL, I'LL ASK QUESTIONS LATER!" Hagrid struggled to detach himself from Harry, who was in a very stubborn frame of mind. "DON' YEH REMEMBER THAT LESS'N TWO YEARS AGO, HE WAS TRYIN' TO SNEAK INTO THIS CASTLE AN' GET TO YEH? HIS BES' FREIN'S SON, AN' HE WOULD HAVE DONE _ANYTHING_ TO GET TO YEH!"

Sirius drew himself up against the wall. "Yes," he replied softly but clearly. "My best friend's son, and I would have done _anything_ to get to him."

The intensity in Sirius' voice sent a chill down Harry's spine, and he froze, his hands still clutching Hagrid's coat. "But not to hurt me," he managed to say, afraid that Sirius' life depended on his finding his voice. "Hagrid, you've been accused of doing things you didn't do! Listen! You know they put the wrong people in Azkaban _all the time!"_

"I would hopeit's not 'all the time,'" Dumbledore took up, catching Hagrid's beetle-black eyes. "But it does happen. Hagrid, I haven't had a chance to talk with you about this yet. Nor have I spoken to Cynthia." He nodded to a woman that Harry did not know. "I give you my word that Sirius Black is innocent of all charges against him, and that he has been of assistance to me since his escape from Azkaban. We all seem to have much to discuss, but a school full of students will be arriving within a few hours. I suggest that you make your final preparations. Minerva, if you would escort our recent arrivals to my office and wait for me to join you?" She nodded crisply. "Harry, leave your things there. They will find their way to your dormitory."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled as the professors hastened to obey the headmaster. They walked most of the way to Dumbledore's office in quiet that was eventually broken by Remus.

"Minerva? What's going on?"

"I thought you were sharper than this, Remus. A former Hogwarts student, a current Hogwarts student, and a former Hogwarts professor just broke into the castle using a secret passage they had all neglected to tell us about." Remus beat down a blush, but, noticing his slight coloring, his one-time professor took pity on him as her features softened. "All of you were presumed dead when Ron and Hermione owled to say that Harry wasn't on the train. It was an easy conclusion to jump to after the attack on your house." She nearly shuddered, but snapped a password and entered Dumbledore's office. "You three are all all right?"

"Yes."

"Sit down." They sat, and her eyes fixed on Sirius. Harry and Remus were both glad that she was not looking at them that way, but Sirius did not seem bothered. He raised innocent eyes from the fascinating section of wall he had been staring at.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" he asked. To Harry's great surprise, and Remus' mild amusement, she smiled affectionately.

"As long as I'm baby-sitting you, would you mind if I asked you something?"

"Not at all."

"How-- how--"

"Professor, I need you to be more specific," Sirius interrupted. "How did I escape from Azkaban, how did I stay sane, how did I get into the castle, how did Harry get to be somewhere other than on the Hogwarts Express, how did I manage not to lose my devastatingly handsome looks?"

Harry's jaw nearly dropped.

"The first two, Mr. Black."

"You don't have any suspicions?"

"I do. All I've been told is that you're innocent. I'm willing to accept that on faith, and because it simply _never_ made sense that _you_ of all people would be the betrayer, but, while I don't have an official reason to know, I would like to see my suspicions confirmed."

Sirius nodded. "I stayed sane in part because my knowledge that I was wrongfully imprisoned was not a happy thought that could be sucked out of me. My innocence and my identity were inextricably linked. I knew who I was, and I knew that I had magical powers, so I was able to simplify things." He stood up and, with a pop, transformed himself into the large, black dog with pale eyes. He strolled down the side of the room, allowing his questioner to examine him more closely, and then returned to human form to see that her smile had changed to a glare.

"This occurred when?"

"During my fifth year."

"Did you have _any_ idea how dangerous that was?"

Sirius blinked. "Would it help if I told you I was deeply ashamed of myself?" he asked ingratiatingly. Harry was getting the distinct impression that his godfather had gotten away with more than any other student who had ever been in one of Professor McGonagall's classes.

"Absolutely not, because I'd know you were lying. Honestly, the things you got away with. It's no wonder you were so carried away with your own intelligence."

"But we had such good teachers," Sirius protested in a smarmy manner reminiscent of the one that Peeves the Poltergeist used to speak to Dumbledore. "Doesn't it make you feel better to know that I was paying attention in your class?"

"I knew you paid attention in my class, I knew you paid attention once every few months because that was all the attention you had to pay, unless you'd just lost fifty points for Gryffindor, and then you'd try to win them back by answering every question."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"There are worse things, certainly, but an illegal animagus transformation! You understand that the Ministry has reasons for keeping track of these things. What if something had gone wrong? Did you know the reversal spells?"

"Yes. We all did. We learned them first so that Remus would stop wringing his hands over the whole thing."

"Ah, yes, the token voice of common sense. But a werewolf's body can't undergo further transformations."

"No," Remus answered, sounding rather like he was being interrogated by a board of judges. "That was their original goal. They found out that I was a werewolf near the beginning of our second year and decided that they would help me by becoming animals themselves and accompanying me to the Shrieking Shack on the full moons."

"Meaning that Peter Pettigrew…" her voice trailed off in disbelief.

Sirius picked up the conversation again. "Yes. James was a stag. Peter was a rat, obviously enough. He cut off his own finger, transformed, and ran into the sewer the day he blew apart that street to frame me. He got himself adopted by Ron Weasley's family-- which brother?"

"Percy," Harry inserted automatically.

"Percy. And Percy gave him to Ron before Ron started school. When the family won some sort of Ministry contest, their photograph was in the _Daily Prophet_, and Ron's _rat_ was sitting on his shoulder. As soon as I saw that, I started planning my escape in earnest. My becoming a dog confused the dementors, and I was able to slip out of the cell and swim to shore."

"That was why Ron's was the bed you attacked with your knife when you broke into the castle."

"Correct."

"You didn't think there was a better way to handle the situation?"

"I couldn't think much at all. And after my _conviction_, I wasn't much for trusting anyone but myself."

"Dumbledore knows all of this?"

"He does."

"Does he know of all the passageways out of the castle that you know of?"

"We know of--" Sirius glanced at Remus.

"You still can't answer a question without checking with each other?" she asked, amused.

"We know of seven," Sirius and Remus answered together.

"Four we know that Mr. Filch knows about," continued Remus. "One is the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. One is the one we just used. It runs into Honeyduke's basement. And the last is behind that elaborate mirror on the fourth floor."

"Did you know about all of these as well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blanched. "Yes."

"And knowing the danger of present times better than anyone, you did not see fit to inform me?"

Remus interrupted. "It isn't his fault he didn't tell you. Sirius and I both encouraged him. I even told him once that his father would have been disappointed if he hadn't learned to sneak out of the castle."

"Was this while you were still teaching him?"

"No. Later."

"But it's quite obvious that you did know how Sirius was breaking into the castle that year?"

"Not for certain. I assumed that he was using his dark powers and not his childhood tricks. But, yes, Severus Snape had a point when he suggested that my friendship with Sirius was a breach of security."

"Not nearly so much as his hatred for Sirius has been. I wasn't accusing you, Remus. I think you did a great deal more good than ill that year."

"Well, Minerva, is the interrogation finished?" Dumbledore interrupted jocularly. None of them had seen him enter; but neither were any of them surprised that they had not.

"Yes, Dumbledore."

"Good. I'd like to ask them some questions myself. But I would also like to direct Harry up to his dormitory. Put your robes on. You are back in school." Harry nodded obediently. "Come back here when you've changed."

As soon as Harry left, Dumbledore rounded on Sirius. "Your godson looks as if he's feeling well," he began, his voice deceptively calm.

"He is."

"How do you know?"

"Because we were just sitting in the same room."

"After I told you to stay away from his relatives' house this summer?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which part of 'lie low' didn't you understand?" Sirius was silent. "Remus? Which part of 'lie low' were you unable to explain to your friend?" Remus was silent as well. "Am I given to understand that you both knew what I meant by 'lie low' and furthermore by 'you are not to interfere with Harry Potter until I give you permission?'"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you agree that taking Harry from his relatives' house less than halfway through the summer and using contact lenses and a hat to disguise him constitutes interfering?"

"We would."

"Why did you do it?"

Sirius dropped his formal, contrite manner instantaneously. "I had to put Harry first. He may have been physically safe in that house-- or he may not have been-- but he certainly wasn't getting everything he needed or the kind of support he deserved. The first time I went to see him he was so out of sorts he could barely talk. Entirely blamed himself for Cedric Diggory's death. Wasn't eating. Wasn't sleeping."

"You didn't mention this when you spoke to me, Sirius. You spoke in generalities. Generalities are not helpful in times like these." Sirius stared back at Dumbledore. "You should have told me."

"Would things have been different if I had?"

"Not in the end, but they would have been easier. You never did make a habit of doing things in the easy way. I suggest that you start."

"Did you raise the spells so we could get to him?"

"Yes. You put me in the rather unpleasant position of being disappointed in you no matter what you did. Either you disregarded everything I told you or you allowed Harry to remain in that situation."

"You knew?"

"I have never left him out there alone. Is his head all right after its meeting with that frying pan?"

"Yes. It was just a bump."

"You checked for a concussion?"

"Yes."

"Where did you take him afterwards? You obviously didn't stay with Remus all summer, although we're grateful for that in light of last night's events."

"Muggle London."

"Muggle London. Where he and you were entirely unprotected from the various individuals who would love to find you in a vulnerable situation. Why did you make this particular decision?"

"It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. London is full of people, and we didn't use any magic, so we couldn't be tracked that way. They would have had to be very lucky to recognize us. I knew it wasn't as safe in some ways as staying with his aunt and uncle would be, but _I_ don't threaten him with frying pans and tell him he's useless or lock him in one room all day."

"Or tie him to the bed. Or starve him," added Remus.

"I don't believe that anything I, or we, did this summer, was wrong," Sirius continued. "He remained safe, and I was a good parent, or a better parent than his aunt and uncle have ever been. I took care of him when he needed it. I saw that he did his homework, I saw that he was comfortable, I even made him eat his vegetables. All right?"

"All right. I would also like to note that the reason I forbade Hagrid to give Harry to you the night James and Lily died was because I believed you had been their secret keeper, not because I did not trust you to be a fit parent. I'm not sure that that ever worked its way through your skull. Now let me tell you where we stand. As far as we know, the Death Eaters suspected but could not prove that Harry was not staying with the Dursleys. They have long memories and know full well that the two of you and James were all close friends. They decided to strike Remus' house just in case. When no bodies were found, but Remus did not contact anyone, no one was sure what to think. The Ministry had no ideas at all, and my thought was that you were spending the day with Harry before putting him on the train. When Harry did not get on the train, I expected that you were all dead or in their custody. As of now, the Ministry knows nothing, with the exception of Arthur Weasley. Ron owled his parents when he owled us."

"Does that mean Ron and Hermione think I'm dead?" Harry interrupted. He had returned, clad in his school uniform and his customary glasses, and found the entrance to the office standing open.

"You can correct any mis-assumptions they may have when they arrive."

"But before that, I need a word with you, Potter. Over here." Professor McGonagall had been quiet since Harry had left the room, but now she stood and pushed open a wall of Dumbledore's office which led to a smaller room. Harry glanced at the wall with something less than curiosity. He was nearly accustomed to odd things such as this happening. "This room is only here for the first week of the term," McGonagall explained as she ushered him inside.

"Oh."

"Now, did Sirius and Remus descend to give you your letter?"

"Yes. It said you wanted to see me."

"Do you have any idea what about?"

"No. Professor Lupin said he had an idea but he didn't want to tell me what."

"Good for him. He was in the same situation when he was your age, so he might know what I want from you. You know that the youngest prefects are in fifth year?"

"Yes. Hermione's one."

"She is. Would you like to be one as well?"

"What?"

"Do, you, want, to, be, a, prefect?" she drew out her words slowly.

"I didn't know you asked. I thought they just got a letter with a badge."

"Ordinarily, they do. Most prefects show very plainly that they would like to have a position of responsibility and are already leaders among their classmates, and near the top of their year academically."

"But I'm not. Hermione's the top in everything, and I know I'm not close to her."

"Believe it or not, you are. She's separated from you by a fraction of a percentage point in Defense Against the Dark Arts. You do well in your other subjects, with the exception of Potions, and there are some extenuating circumstances there. There are some extenuating circumstances in any case because of your rather unusual position within the wizarding world. All of the students of Gryffindor House know you, and they seem to respect you as well. I know that you aren't fond of publicity for the most part, so we decided to ask you whether or not you wanted the position."

"Do you think I should take it?"

"I wouldn't be offering it to you if I didn't think you would do well. This is not something you've been offered because you're the Boy Who Lived. This is not something you're being offered because it's something your parents did, and did well. That has nothing to do with it."

"I didn't think there were usually two prefects in the same house in the same year."

"There aren't, but it does happen. Your parents were both prefects before they were Head Boy and Head Girl. Your godfather," she jerked her head toward the wall that had opened and closed "would have been a prefect as well if he had ever shown the slightest inclination to use his intellectual abilities for anything but causing mayhem. And Remus was offered the position because he was top of one class and second in another, and very responsible except perhaps in his choice of friends." She gave Harry a tiny smile. "He refused. I wish he hadn't."

Harry was now certain that his professor was attempting to convince him to accept the position. He wanted to please her, but she was right: he didn't like being the center of attention. He also didn't imagine that Ron would react very well if Harry and Hermione were both prefects and he was not. Finally, he didn't think that he should accept a position of honor that entailed a great deal of work (when Quidditch already took up a huge amount of his time-- but his father had obviously managed to do both) just because he liked the prefects' bathroom.

Professor McGonagall seemed to sense the direction in which Harry was leaning, because she spoke again. "What I'm about to say to you is off, off, _off_ the record. This doesn't go beyond these walls. All right?" Harry nodded. "This isn't the best reason for you to make your decision, but it's a very real reason. You know that Miss Granger is at the top every one of her classes."

_Boy, do I know that_. "Yes."

"If she continues as she has been going, she _will_ be the Head Girl. She has very little competition. Academics are not the only determinant in choosing a Head Boy and Girl, but they are a major one. The Head Boy will in all likelihood be one of the students who is threatening to throw Miss Granger out of the top spot in one of her classes. Terry Boot from Ravenclaw is a prefect this year, and he's quite talented in charms. There's Draco Malfoy, who is never far behind Hermione in Potions. And there's you. I repeat that this is _off_ the record, but Terry is very much a dark horse in this race. Do you understand?"

"Draco's going to be Head Boy unless I am." _That's two whole years away!_

"Correct. _You_ will have to listen to Mr. Malfoy's thoughts on that situation, and _I_ will have to listen to Professor Snape's views on that situation. If you'd like to deliver either of us from those fates, I'd suggest that you accept this badge." A shining, sliver badge like the one Percy had used to wear appeared in her hand.

_Well, Ron would like that even less than he'll like me being a prefect. And Hermione would have to put up with Malfoy all the time. And that swimming pool they think is a bath is really very nice_. "I'd love to be a prefect."

"I thought you would." He accepted the offered badge and pinned it to his robes, and they both stood up. The opposite wall swung open this time, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were standing right next to the entrance to the Great Hall. He stood in the doorway and searched for Ron's bright hair, which was very convenient in situations like this one. Catching sight of one of the twins-- George, he guessed-- instead, he headed towards him, instead, failing to notice that an unusual visitor had just passed behind him.

Cornelius Fudge, in his pinstriped cloak, was storming towards Dumbledore's office, where Dumbledore remained with Remus-- and Sirius.


	11. Drumhead Trial

**Part 11: Drumhead Trial**

Cornelius Fudge was stunned to see that the doorway to Albus Dumbledore's office had been left open, but the situation did not seem quite so odd when he considered that a new class of students was about to be welcomed to Hogwarts. Dumbledore must be on his way out of his office.

"Hello?" he called as he entered the room. Three men looked at him. One, of course, was Dumbledore; and one was Remus Lupin, the only victim of childhood lycanthropy who had ever become a fully trained wizard, though to what end Fudge was not sure; but it was the third who greeted him first.

"Cornelius Fudge."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I've forgotten your name."

He laughed, a laugh almost like a bark. "How unfortunate."

Fudge turned slowly to face his accuser, annoyance burning in his eyes. No one dared to speak to the Minister of Magic in this way, but insolence still shone from the man's eyes. Lupin was gesturing that his companion should shut up, and Fudge wondered why. He had spoken to Lupin only a few times over the past fifteen years, and while Lupin had been as polite as a werewolf could be, there had been no love lost between the two. "May I ask your name?" he inquired crisply.

"I don't think I'll tell you. I don't know if you would be able to stand the embarrassment."

"Very compassionate of you."

"You wouldn't know compassion if you tripped over it."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore interrupted. "This is a surprise. What brings you here?"

"What else but Harry Potter? There's a rumor that he was not on the Hogwarts Express."

"You hardly needed to come down here personally to have me say that Harry is safe and sound and down in the Great Hall with his friends."

"I see that he isn't the only one who's safe and sound." Fudge jerked his head toward Lupin. "You're presumed dead."

"An erroneous assumption, I'm afraid," said Lupin pleasantly, still watching his companion out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, then, seeing as you're still among the living, would you care to introduce me to your friend before I see if I can drum up some charges against him for speaking so rudely to the Minister of Magic?"

Fudge was favored with a half-laugh, half-glare from the man he did not know. Lupin, meanwhile, was given nods from both of the other men in the room, and cleared his throat. "Minister Fudge, may I present Sirius Black?"

"_What?_" Fudge nearly feel backward into a chair. "Dumbledore, this isn't funny."

"I quite agree," said Dumbledore smoothly. "I believe he has an alibi or two if you were planning to have the Daily Prophet blame last night's incident on him."

"Blame-- but," Fudge sputtered. "Reporting and blaming are not the same thing."

"Indeed they are not. Nor are attempting to calm the population at large and attempting to keep them uninformed the same thing."

"Are you insinuating that _I_ am attempting to keep the general population in the dark about the activities of Death Eaters?"

"I'm insinuating nothing, Cornelius. I simply believe that the _Daily Prophet's_ recent articles which place all of the recent dark activity on Sirius' head and which plainly state that Voldemort has not risen again are a danger. If Voldemort is to be defeated, our allies must know that it is time to fight."

"But-- this-- Is this truly Sirius Black?"

"At your service. Or not," Black answered.

Fudge stared at him. He looked nothing like the man he had seen when he made his yearly visits to Azkaban, but when he thought of the famous photograph of Black, laughing, as the world exploded around him, he became painfully aware that the infamous prisoner was indeed before him. "Dumbledore, this is a bit much, even for you. Harboring _the most infamous criminal in the world_? People live in fear of this man! He escaped from Azkaban! Dementors don't affect him!"

"I wouldn't say that for sure," said Dumbledore, his voice never rising. "Sirius? Do dementors affect you?"

"Yes," replied Black, his voice rather less cocky than it had been.

"See?" Dumbledore continued, returning his attention to Fudge. "It is dangerous to make that kind of assumption, Cornelius."

"I would think it would also be dangerous to assume that it would be safe to allow Sirius Black to enter a school full of children, including Harry Potter."

"I don't assume that it is safe. I know for a fact that it is."

Fudge's ire began to rise. "Would it be _safe_ for me to _assume_ that you do not plan to hand Black over to the dementors without a fight?"

"Indeed it would. The fact is, as I'm sure you agree, that Sirius was never even tried for the death of Peter Pettigrew and the Muggles in that street, let alone for any more recent dark activity."

"He didn't need a trial! The evidence was clear."

"I don't believe it was. I further believe that more evidence has been gathered since that time. And under no circumstances will Sirius leave this castle until he has been properly tried. If he is exonerated, the Daily Prophet will be forced to retract its speculation that one man is responsible for the recent appearances of the Dark Mark."

"In that case, why doesn't I just call up the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a panel of Ministry employees to act as jury, and we can try him right here, right now?" Fudge was joking, but as he watched Dumbledore's face, he became aware that he might be forced to be as good as his word.

"I would approve of that. I have to go down to see the Sorting and open the feast, but I'll return before you can get your people here. I suggest the seminar room in the dungeon next to the Potions classroom as a courtroom?"

"Fine. But he must remain here until he can be escorted by hit wizards."

"Is that a problem, Sirius?" Black shook his head. "And Remus stays with him as well. He is _my_ guard."

"Very well."

"The fire is at your disposal. Arthur Weasley is here if you'd like the help of one of your own employees."

Fudge was mildly surprised. "Weasley? What's he doing here?"

"He and his wife came to see their youngest son. Harry Potter's closest friend, you know, and he owled them from the train extremely upset."

That was a reasonable explanation, Fudge supposed. He followed Dumbledore from his office and headed for the dungeon that was to house their drumhead trial. Within an hour, he had brought various department heads, prison guards, and witnesses to his side.

X

William Middleton, a nondescript middle-aged wizard who had recently risen to the highest position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement thanks to a series of scandals which had left him unaffected, was ready to begin the trial almost as soon as he arrived, and he did not have long to wait. The dungeon was not filled nearly to capacity, but a large number of faculty and staff members, as well as witnesses and journalists, arrived and sat around the edges of the room. The trial smacked of legitimacy even if it was being held at a moment's notice in an unused classroom.

Middleton quickly summarized the evidence, well known to all present, which had been gathered against Sirius Black fourteen years earlier. "Joshua Houston!" he snapped upon completion of this task.

"Yes, Mr. Middleton."

"You understand the terms of this trial and that you are sworn to speak truthfully."

"I do."

"You were employed at the Fortress of Azkaban fourteen years ago?"

"I was, sir."

"You were present the day that Sirius Black was first brought into confinement?"

"I was."

"Is this Sirius Black?" Middleton pointed.

"It is."

"The same man who was imprisoned in the Fortress of Azkaban."

"Yes."

"Throughout the time period that you served as a guardian at Azkaban, did you take notice of his behavior as different from the behavior of the other prisoners?"

"At first, he was a lot the same as the others. He was already mad when he was brought in, it seemed. Started trying to kill himself right off, but that's hard for a high-security prisoner. He's always being watched, and Luke and me, we wanted to make sure he suffered for a long time for what he did."

"'Luke' being Lucas Roshka, your former co-worker."

"Yes. The dementors, they can't really tell what a prisoner is doing. They can't see. As long as they're making the prisoners unhappy, they don't care about anything else. They aren't easy to work with. You're always afraid they'll forget about the prisoners and turn on you. So usually you don't go out where they are, but we made exceptions for prisoners like Black."

"If you would return to the subject of his behavior?"

"He kept trying to kill himself for the first few months. Once he almost did it. Cut himself open somehow and tried to drown himself in his own blood. We got to him in time, though. We weren't going to let him put himself out of his misery. We weren't going to be out-smarted by some pretty boy barely out of his teens." Various members of the Hogwarts contingent began to cry, softly, during this speech. Remus Lupin, seated among the hit wizards guarding Black, looked as if he might become physically ill. Black himself, though, was staring almost vacantly across the room, not seeming to hear the guard's testimony.

"And after the first few months, the suicide attempts stopped?"

"Yes. He didn't yell any more either, although he never did yell near so much as the rest. He seemed less mad as time went on. Resigned, and drained, but after a while we didn't have to check on him anymore."

"And it had been years since anyone had run a regular check on him when he escaped."

"Yes. The Minister of Magic saw him when he did his rounds, and the prisoners saw him when they were dragged in or out, and the occasional visitor. But he hadn't seen anyone but dementors on a regular basis."

"That much contact with dementors would drive most men mad."

"Yes. But he seemed to become more aware of himself. Before he escaped, he started talking in his sleep again, the dementors said. But he was lucid."

"What did he say in his sleep?"

"He said 'He's at Hogwarts' over and over again."

"Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Harry Potter."

"Did he say Harry Potter's name?"

"No. But everyone knew that Black would never have been imprisoned if You-Know-Who had been able to kill Harry Potter."

"Thank you. Albus Dumbledore." Dumbledore rose and walked to the interrogation table in the middle of the room as Joshua Houston left it. "You understand the terms of this trial and that you are sworn to speak truthfully?" Middleton queried, obviously feeling slightly silly asking such a question of the greatest wizard of his time.

"I do."

"Is it true that you allowed dementors from Azkaban, despite your feeling that they detract from your students' ability to learn, to guard Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the academic year immediately following Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban?"

"That is correct."

"Is it also correct that you allowed such measures to be taken because you knew of the escaped prisoner's statement: 'He's at Hogwarts?'"

"Indeed it is."

"Is it further correct to believe that your suspicions that Black would attempt to enter the castle were confirmed when he did so, not once but twice, once attacking a living painting which would not allow him into the common room used by Harry Potter and once gaining entrance to Potter's dormitory and threatening a student with a knife?"

"I do not believe that he threatened a student with a knife. You are otherwise correct."

"Finally, he was detained on Hogwarts grounds after holding Potter and his friends Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley at wandpoint, but escaped by means unknown?"

"I do not know the details of his confrontation with Harry and his friends, but he was detained on Hogwarts grounds and he did escape before the dementors were able to administer their kiss."

"Do you see any reason that he should not be returned to Azkaban and given the dementor's kiss now?"

"I do." Everyone had expected this statement, but a murmur rose from the assembled crowd nonetheless. "I believe Sirius Black to be innocent of the charges for which he was originally imprisoned. As he was denied a trial at the time, I believe that he should be given a chance to speak for himself now."

"Agreed. Please return to your seat. Mr. Black, do not move. You will give your testimony from your current position. You understand the terms of this trial and that you are sworn to speak truthfully?"

"Yes."

"You further understand that owing to your reputation and the circumstances surrounding this trial you will be asked to speak under veritaserum?"

"Yes."

"You are aware that undiluted veritaserum has a tendency to cause nausea and that if you are unable keep it internalized, you will be asked to take a second dose?"

"Yes."

"You agree to these conditions, and agree that any testimony not given under the influence of veritaserum will be moot?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Tildash?" Middleton turned to a Ministry potions-brewer, who produced a vial of clear liquid. "This veritaserum is pure?"

"It is, Mr. Middleton. It was prepared in the presence of eyewitnesses at the Ministry of Magic Lab last Wednesday." Tildash presented the seal to the avidly watching audience. He then broke the seal and produced a sheet of paper to which he touched the tiniest drop of veritaserum. The paper turned blood red, and all the witnesses to the trial became convinced that the vial did indeed contain the mentioned substance. At last, the vial was handed to a hit wizard, who handed it to Black while attempting not to brush the convict's fingers with his own.

Black downed the veritaserum in one gulp. His face grew a shade paler, but he turned to Middleton, quite obviously waiting to be questioned.

Middleton drew breath and began. "Mr. Black, you stand accused of murdering Peter Pettigrew as well as twelve Muggle bystanders, of aiding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by functioning as a spy who reported on the whereabouts of James and Lily Potter among others, and of attacking Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger with intent to harm. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"Ministry records show that James and Lily Potter were well aware that they were at the top of You-Know-Who's hit list, and that they made appropriate preparations to protect themselves. Were you their secret keeper?"

"No."

"Albus Dumbledore has testified in the past that you were."

"I expected to be the secret keeper. We changed our plans at the last moment in the hopes of fooling a spy we knew to be among us. Ministry records should also show that someone very close to James Potter was passing information to Voldemort." A shudder ran through the crowd at the mention of the name.

"Say 'You-Know-Who' please, Mr. Black."

"You-Know-Who. I was the predictable choice to be James' secret keeper. Peter Pettigrew was substituted at the last moment."

"Have you any means of proving this?"

"Just my word." Black gulped, as if he was about to lose the battle with his stomach over the veritaserum, but he continued.

"Take us back to the night when You-Know-Who lost his powers. Where were you?"

"I was in hiding. I had to be; I was the red herring secret keeper. I became nervous, so I went to Peter's hiding place to check on him."

"You Apparated?"

"I was too scared. I might have splinched myself even without trying to avoid anti-Apparition spells. I took a motorcycle I had enchanted to fly. It was registered with the Ministry. The Phillips Clause of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Act was not yet in effect."

"Mr. Black, you are not on trial for possession of a flying motorcycle. What did you see when you arrived at Peter Pettigrew's hiding place?"

"He was gone. There was no sign of a struggle. Everything felt wrong. I went to Godric's Hollow as fast as I could, wanting to warn James. But when I got there, I only saw--" Black's eyes were wild, and his voice cracked, as if he were truly reliving the moment-- assuming that the moment had actually occurred.

"You saw what?" prompted Middleton.

"The Dark Mark." His voice broke again, and he began to cry, or, if he was not crying, a solitary tear trailed down his left cheek. Several of the impromptu jury members behind Fudge were choking on sobs as well. _I expected that out of the Hogwarts staff, but my Ministry employees? They know what we've been going through to catch this man! They know what he is!_ Fudge thought angrily.

"I got closer," Black continued, "and I saw Hagrid."

"Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts Groundskeeper?"

"Yes. He was holding Harry. Harry was bleeding, from his forehead, and he was covered with dust, from the rubble. But he was alive. He's my godson, and I'm his legal guardian, and I asked Hagrid to let me take him. I was trying to fulfill at least one of my promises to James and Lily. But Hagrid told me no, and we argued, and I ended up giving him my motorcycle to take Harry away. I was planning to commit murder, and I knew that you couldn't take a motorcycle to prison, or to the grave.

"Hagrid left with Harry, and I stayed there and stared at the house. Just stared at it, like if I stared at it long enough it would rebuild itself, and James would come out and tell me to go to bed, it was the middle of the night. But nothing changed, no matter how long I stood there, and I had to start moving before the officials and the curiosity-seekers did. I started to go through the rubble, collecting things that Harry was entitled to but that he wouldn't get if they became evidence, or souvenirs, or museum pieces, or garbage. Photographs, mostly.

"Hagrid, I think, I don't think anyone was there before him, had pulled Lily and James from the rubble, checked to see if they had survived. They hadn't, of course. They were still lying roughly where they died. He was where the front door had been, and she was towards the far side of the house, where Harry's nursery was. I picked her up and put her next to James. Their faces-- were both-- frozen, the way Avada Kedavra is. I tried to close their eyes, and I couldn't. And then I saw that James didn't have his glasses, and I started panicking even more, because he couldn't _see_ without his glasses. I tore what was left of the house apart until I found them, and gave them back to him, and said I was sorry, over and over, but he couldn't say anything. Neither of them could.

"I took the things I had for Harry, and I went to Gringotts. Apparated this time. I wasn't upset anymore. I had made my decision and that made me feel calm all over. There wasn't any turning back and that was comforting. I put Harry's things in my vault. And, I started tracking down Peter Pettigrew.

"He wasn't hard to find. In retrospect, I guess he wanted me to find him. I started to confront him, and he yelled at the top of his lungs that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Everyone in the street heard. He had a wand behind his back, and before I could draw, he'd cut off his finger and blown up the street. He transformed into a rat-- he was an illegal animagus--" here gasps of disbelief filled the room "and ran into the sewers, faking his own death and framing me, the only person who knew he'd betrayed the Potters.

"I stood there and laughed. It was so absurd. I don't remember the next few days very well. I remember asking to be allowed to see Dumbledore, or Remus, or one of a few people I thought would hear me out, but that was forbidden. I was sent to Azkaban without a trial."

"An interesting story, Mr. Black. Skip ahead to your escape from Azkaban. Why did you choose to escape just then?"

"Minister Fudge had recently visited the prison and given me a newspaper. The Weasley family won some sort of Ministry contest and in the picture the youngest boy's pet rat was sitting on his shoulder. I knew that the rat was Peter in his animagus form, and I knew from the caption that the boy attended Hogwarts. Peter was at Hogwarts, near Harry, possibly even living in the same dormitory. I had to find him, finish the job I'd started twelve years before, protect Harry, keep one promise to James and Lily. I escaped."

"How, Mr. Black, if not by dark magic?"

"I told you that Peter was an unregistered animagus. So am I. A dementor can't see, and couldn't tell that I turned into a dog to slip through the bars and swim to shore. Becoming a dog also helped me to remain sane. A dog's emotions are less complex and a dog cannot become distraught the way a human can. I was also sane, and able to plan an escape, because I was innocent. I was not happy to be wrongfully imprisoned, so the dementors couldn't take my knowledge of my innocence or that part of my identity from me."

"Would you care to turn into a dog for us?"

"That would require my leaving this chair."

Middleton nodded to the hit wizards, who stepped back. "Go on."

Sirius rose, and transformed to dog and then to human while a murmur ran through the crowd. Fudge found himself feeling stunned with all the rest.

"Continue your story," commanded Middleton when quiet had again descended.

"I went first to Little Whinging, because I wanted to see Harry. I did, in my dog form obviously, as he left his aunt and uncle's house on the Knight Bus. Then I went to Hogwarts, lived in the forest--"

"The Forbidden Forest?"

"After twelve years in Azkaban I certainly wasn't afraid of the Forbidden Forest. I entered the castle twice using secret passages I had learned about as a student. The first time I could not enter the dormitory where Peter was hiding because I did not have the password. The second time I had the password, but Peter's 'owner,' Ron, woke up and shouted before I was able to find him.

"One night, when Ron and Harry and Hermione were out late, I saw Peter. I grabbed him, and I pulled him into the tunnel that runs beneath the Whomping Willow. Ron would not let go, so I pulled him in as well. Harry and Hermione followed. The Ministry must have statements regarding the other events of that night."

"Indeed we do. Yours as well as Severus Snape's. Yours hinges on Peter Pettigrew's presence and his confession to betraying James and Lily Potter. You have proven yourself to be an animagus, but you were notorious for your magical power and your cleverness even when you were a child. Peter Pettigrew was not. Can you offer proof of his animagus abilities?"

"I can. Among the photographs I mentioned taking from the wreckage of the house were several which portrayed Peter's switch to his alter-form."

"Very well. That will be all, Mr. Black. Is Griphook present?" A Gringotts goblin stepped forward from the shadows. He looked none too happy to be in a Hogwarts dungeon. "You understand the terms of this trial and that you are sworn to speak truthfully?" The goblin grunted in the affirmative. "Was the box you hold in your arms placed in Sirius Black's vault on the first of November fourteen years ago?"

"It was."

"Has it been disturbed since then?"

The goblin smiled nastily. "No. No one touches anything that doesn't belong to them in Gringotts. It was not removed until this evening."

"Very well. Leave the box. You may go." Griphook hastened out gratefully, and Middleton opened the box. Inside, on top of the stack of photographs, was a photograph of a young, blond-haired man, smiling nervously. Glancing over Middleton's shoulder, Fudge was able to see, quite clearly, that the man was indeed Peter Pettigrew, and that he was indeed an animagus. For the first time, he felt a real seed of doubt in the pit of his stomach. _What have we done?_ "Let the record show that the photograph does indeed offer strong evidence to support the claim that Peter Pettigrew was or is an animagus. If the proprietor of Ollivander's Wands could come forward." Mr. Ollivander rose from a seat toward the back of the room and made his way to the interrogation seat, stumbling slightly. He looked as if the earlier proceedings had rather unnerved him. "You understand the terms of this trial and that you are sworn to speak truthfully?"

"Yes."

"You recall every wand that you have ever sold in your shop?"

"Yes."

"This wand was handed to me just prior to the start of this trial. Do you recognize it?"

"Couldn't forget it. It belonged to Sirius Black. Dragon heartstring, mahogany, eleven inches. Very powerful. A very good match."

"If Sirius Black were to hold this wand now, after fourteen years, would it react to him as it did when it first chose him?"

"It's very likely."

"Mr. Black, stand and extend your wand hand. Do not attempt to move otherwise, or this trial will be over." Black stood, and the guards stood along with him, pointing their wands at his head and heart. The wand was handed to a guard who shakily placed it in Black's hand. Brightly colored sparks shot from the wand's end almost before it touched him, and Black gave a strangled cry, nearly weaving on his feet. The wand was quickly removed, and returned to Mr. Ollivander. "Mr. Ollivander, if this wand meets with another wand which had a core donated by the same dragon and the wands are forced to duel, what will occur?"

"Priori incantantem. One wand will force its brother to regurgitate every spell it has ever cast. If a wand has committed murder, the images of the victims will appear."

"Is such a wand possessed by anyone present?"

"Yes. Mafalda Hopkirk." Mafalda was among the Ministry members serving as jurors.

"Ms. Hopkirk? If you would come forward and draw against Mr. Ollivander, please? Mr. Ollivander, if you would refrain from attempting to overpower Ms. Hopkirk?" Both nodded. "On the count of three, you will attempt to disarm one another. One, two, three."

Light shot from both wands, and, quickly, beads of light began to force their ways into the wand Mr. Ollivander held. Ordinary spells displayed themselves: spells that lit fires, summoned or banished, permitted Apparition, gave power to inanimate objects, transfigured, gave guidance. The process had gone on for nearly an hour when Middleton announced that the court accepted that no dark magic had ever been done with the wand. Both demonstrators sat down gratefully as Middleton began to summarize the written evidence which suggested that the explosion that had killed a dozen people had not originated at the spot where Sirius Black had stood. Fudge put little weight on that evidence, but he could hardly ignore the rest.

At long last, Middleton, having grown quite hoarse, began to call forward his final witnesses. "Harry James Potter."

Harry was escorted in by a Hogwarts instructor Fudge did not recognize right off, and was led to the interrogation chair. "You understand the terms of this trial and that you are sworn to speak truthfully?"

"Yes." He looked very young, and very nervous.

"On the night that you were confronted by Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack, did he threaten you?"

"No."

"Did he threaten either of your friends?"

"No."

"Did he do you physical harm?"

"No. We fought against each other a little bit, and he almost choked me trying to make me listen to him, but he didn't hurt me."

"Did he do physical harm to either of your friends?"

"He broke Ron's leg, but not on purpose."

"Did he place a confundus charm on you?"

"No."

"Were you afraid of him?"

"Only at first. When I understood what he was doing I wasn't afraid of him anymore."

"Did Peter Pettigrew appear to you?"

"Yes."

"You believe him to be an animagus?"

"Yes."

"Did he confess to being the secret keeper who betrayed your parents?"

"Yes."

The process was repeated with Harry's friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Their answers matched exactly, and the three were sent to sit with Arthur Weasley's wife. Fudge was only glad that he would not have to listen to the werewolf's account of the story. People were even less likely to believe werewolves than they were to believe children.

Strength returned to Middleton's weary voice as he began his final speech. "Sirius Black, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the deaths of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles; functioning as a spy for You-Know-Who; and attacking Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgment?"

"Yes. My behavior has not always been mature and well thought out. It has not always answered to common sense and it has not always served my best interests. I do not regret that I have not served myself well. I _do_ regret that I have not served Harry Potter well. He is my best friend's son. I have sworn since the day he was born that I would love him. I do. I have sworn since the day he was born that I would take care of him. I have not been able to. He's not the baby he was when I first began to make the mistakes that have kept me from him. He's tall enough to put his head on my shoulder when I hug him and he's old enough to tell me I'm a hypocrite when I ask him to have more sense than I do, although I must say that he only tells me so very politely. I'm asking for the benefit of the doubt. I'm asking to be formally and publicly allowed back into my godson's life when he's in more danger than ever. Please."

All during the course of Black's speech, Fudge noted, Harry Potter was nodding and turning pleading eyes to the jury. Naturally, they were paying attention. Everyone paid attention to Harry Potter. He was a brat, really, thought Fudge. Served him right to have a murderous godfather.

"Sweet Jesus, what have we done?" whispered one of the jury members behind Fudge. He knew their ruling before they responded to Middleton's call for a vote. Each witch and wizard voted to absolve Black of all responsibility for his crimes.

"Will the defendant rise?" Black did, on shaking legs. "We recommend that all charges against you be dropped. You will be confined to Hogwarts until such time as a formal decision has been reached. You may leave." Black was clutching the rim of the table, and fighting to maintain his balance, but he turned to walk formally out of the dungeon, looking at no one, still surrounded by his guards, including his werewolf friend.

Cornelius Fudge snorted with disgust as the conversations around him exploded with sound. How in the world would the Daily Prophet be able to put a positive spin on _this_?


	12. Freedom?

**Part 12: Freedom?**

"We recommend that all charges against you be dropped. You will be confined to Hogwarts until such time as a formal decision has been reached. You may leave."

Sirius wondered if he would be able to walk across the dungeon. He had done it before, many times, because this room was next to the Potions classroom and had therefore been a very good place for a quartet of mischievous teenagers to plan pranks. It had not seemed so large then as it did now. Still, somehow, he managed to cross the room, making eye contact with no one, not even Harry. The hit wizards who had been standing within wand's length of him since Fudge had discovered his true identity were still escorting him, and Remus was there, too, Sirius assumed. He was not about to turn around and check.

As soon as the procession had made its way through the doors, Remus broke away from the other guards and wrapped an arm around Sirius, who accepted the support with relief. "Get me out of here," he whispered as softly as he could, knowing that his desperation would make his voice carry.

"Right. Come on." Remus tightened his grip and steered Sirius away from the path that would be taken by the trial attendees when they emerged. "We might have to climb straight up. Can you handle that?"

"Yes! Just get me away!"

"Okay, we're going. Here." Remus pulled a trapdoor down from the low ceiling of a short corridor. "Up. We have to get the door closed before they see us." Sirius scrambled upward, missing the physical support-- Remus had really been dragging him, he noted belatedly-- but finding new strength now that he was free from stares and questions and ponderings on his validity as a human being.

"How far are we going?"

"About four flights. You'll have to swing through a hole in a wooden platform. Climb onto the platform."

"Where are we?"

"Now? We're in the wall of the main floor right above the Potions room. We're going to end up almost inside the Ravenclaw Tower, which, as I'm sure you know from your storied past, is set up almost exactly like Gyffindor Tower."

"Got it. I've been here before."

"It's not quite a secret room, but no one is likely to come up here. We can seal it, anyway, so that the students won't be able to get in."

"It was also in the right place at the right time. I have a new respect for this room."

"Try to respect the platform as well. Watch your head."

"Good idea." Sirius swung himself onto the narrow surface with rather more effort and rather less smoothness than was customary for him. Ducking his head slightly, he crept across the wooden planks to a loft which was suspended behind a dusty wall filled with cracks.

The room he had reached was a sharp contrast to the dust-covered former storage space he had just crawled through. It was clean and (once Remus entered and used his wand to light the candles) bright, and it contained several shelves of books, two plush chairs, and a matching couch onto which Sirius immediately threw himself. He buried his head in the cushions and mentally began to list the pros and cons of never moving again.

"Padfoot?" Remus' hand rubbed a circle on Sirius' back. "Is the veritaserum bothering you?" Sirius shook his head. "Are you trying to suffocate yourself?"

Sirius laughed in spite of himself, and sat up halfway. "No, I'm not trying to suffocate myself."

"How are you doing?"

"That was awful," he explained simply.

"It's over now, and you won't have to do it again."

"I know, but I may never show my face in public again anyway."

"Why not?"

"You need a list?"

"Yes."

"All right. A list. I cried while everyone in the room, including _Severus Snape_, was staring at me."

"One tear. Claim you had something in your eye and you couldn't move because the hit wizards would have taken you out."

"That's brilliant."

"Severus is the only person in the world who would ever profess to think less of you even if you'd been screaming and sobbing. And the fact is, he _couldn't_ think less of you so it's irrelevant."

"The others wouldn't say they thought less of me, but I'd still rather not have been there--feeling like that-- with everyone looking at me."

"Were you looking at them?"

"What? No."

"I was. And I can tell you that just about everyone other than Cornelius Fudge and Severus Snape was crying. They were whimpering when you talked about seeing James' body and they were sobbing when you gave your final statement. Did you work out that line about Harry being tall enough to put his chin on your shoulder beforehand? They really ate that up."

"Make it up beforehand? No, that was just last minute inspiration. Harry was there for that part. I hope he didn't mind."

"He was playing to the jury, did you see that?"

Sirius chuckled. "He was?"

"Giving them pleading looks, catching their eyes one by one. He was very systematic about it."

"I guess it's hard to say no to the Boy Who Lived."

"I suspect it is, but I don't think he swung the jury. I think the evidence did, and you did."

"I just wish…"

"Wish what?"

"They hadn't brought in that go-between from Azkaban."

"The Ministry had to establish that you were the great Azkaban escapee."

"Did they have to establish that I tried to kill myself by drowning in my own blood?" Remus' face became suddenly drawn, and this was not lost on Sirius. "See? How did that make you feel?"

"Horrified. I knew you were tortured but I'd never heard any specifics."

"You want more?"

"You want to tell me?"

"No. I didn't even want you to know that."

"I understand that you need privacy, and space, but that one incident is hardly enough for you to lock yourself in this room for all eternity."

"Maybe not." Sirius finally straightened up all the way, and Remus sat beside him, still looking at him as if concerned and giving his shoulder a caress as he sat down. Sirius shuddered in response, and then slackened, as if all of the muscles in his body had suddenly relaxed. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and Remus rested a hand on the back of Sirius' neck-- something of a holdover from their time spent in canine form.

They remained in unmoving silence until the fireplace that stood behind the couch sprang to life with a wheeze, as if it had not been opened for many years. "Remus? Sirius?" The familiar, but slightly thicker than usual, voice of Minerva McGonagall entered the room. Remus climbed over the back of the couch to face her.

"How did you know where we were?"

"An interesting map was left in our possession at the end of last year."

Remus cringed jokingly. "Are you going to tell us off again?"

"Not right now. Not at all, but you might eventually be called upon to explain how it works."

"All right. As long as you don't take points from Gryffindor."

"Or make us polish the trophies," Sirius added, clambering over the couch himself.

McGonagall laughed, albeit not in a very carefree manner. "Congratulations, Sirius."

"Thank you," he answered awkwardly.

"Most of the Hogwarts staff who attended your trial missed the feast, so we're having a smaller version in a few minutes. If either or both of you feel like coming down and joining us, you're more than welcome. Harry and his friends and a few of Ron's siblings are coming as well. If you'd rather not, we'll have some food sent to you, and in any case," she reached behind herself and produced a bottle "here is the antidote for the veritaserum, unless you'd like to remain entirely truthful. I also have the wand you've been using, Sirius." She handed both objects through the fire. "You'll get your original wand back sometime after the Ministry gets through making its decision official."

"_If_ the Ministry makes its decision official," Sirius modified.

"There were too many people at that trial, Sirius. The evidence can't be ignored now that it's out in the open." Sirius shot his former professor a rather dubious glance as he swallowed the veritaserum antidote and tucked the wand into his belt. "Are the two of you coming down?" Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, and Sirius decided that he had to start showing his face sooner or later.

"Yes," Remus answered firmly. "We'll be there in ten minutes or so."

As they entered the Great Hall, they scanned the assembled group for Harry. Predictably, they found his dark head amidst a sea of flaming orange that announced the presence of the four youngest Weasley siblings as well as their parents. Harry saw Sirius and Remus almost as soon as they saw him, and he rose in greeting.

As he walked across the Great Hall to see his godfather and Remus privately, if just for a moment, Harry celebrated the fact that he was feeling slightly relaxed for the first time since he had arrived at Hogwarts hours before. First there had been the strain of meeting Professor McGonagall and wondering whether she was going to hug him or put him in detention until he graduated. (Harry was not sure which would have been worse.) There had been the unfortunate incidence of Minister Fudge seeing Sirius, which had turned out to be a blessing in disguise after a very long, stressful trial. And in between, he had met his friends for the first time in what felt like years.

_Harry had not been able to see Ron or Hermione in the Great Hall when he had first arrived with Professor McGonagall, who had gone off to see to the new first years immediately. However, he had soon caught sight of George and forced his way through the crowd to him._

"_George?"_

"_Harry?" The disbelief in George's voice was such that Harry instantly reprimanded himself for calling him by name; after all, this might be Fred. Not even Ron could tell his twin brothers apart every time he tried. Usually, voice was the best way to tell one from the other, but this voice sounded as if it belonged to neither twin._

"_Sorry--"_

"_Sorry? What in the name of-- oh, you guessed right, I'm George. Is that what you were worried about?" He did not let Harry answer before continuing. "Don't be stupid. Sometimes Mum can't tell us apart, and if she doesn't have to, you certainly don't. And we don't make it easy, either. We could cut our hair different ways or something. But that's not the-- are you all right?"_

"_I'm fine. Where are--"_

"_This way." George was already dragging Harry along. "I was the token Weasley representative out here-- Ron's practically catatonic. He'd be all the way there if he wasn't so worried about Hermione. And Gin-- hey!" George's fingers suddenly brushed against the cool, hard badge pinned to Harry's chest. "You're a--"_

"_Yes." Harry tore the badge from his robes and shoved it into the pocket of the jeans he was wearing beneath them. "Don't tell anyone just yet, okay?"_

"_Yeah, fine. But he's really not going to-- never mind. I wouldn't want to show a prefect's badge to Mum, either. She made a huge fuss over Hermione, and that was a foregone conclusion if anything ever was. Oh, here we are." George shoved the door of a small room usually used to hold visitors awaiting a student open without knocking. Six heads, five of them red, snapped up. "Look what I found," George announced. Before he had finished speaking, Hermione had thrown herself at Harry, and he hugged her back, whispering that he was sorry for worrying her. She was obviously crying, and probably would have bolted from the room had she not known that she had no way of doing so without instantly confronting the crowds in the Great Hall._

_Harry locked eyes with Ron over Hermione's head, and began to mouth an apology to him, too, but Ron brushed it off with a glance. As soon as Hermione gathered herself together slightly and backed away, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry as well._

_The first words spoken above a whisper were Ron's: "Well, since Harry's here, let's go in to the feast, shall we?" Mrs. Weasley looked scandalized, but Fred, George, and Harry all grinned. Harry felt a renewed surge of gratitude toward Ron, who quite obviously had risked a glare from his mother to take the extremely awkward edge off of the impromptu meeting._

"_Oh! Have we missed the Sorting?" asked Hermione, who now looked almost entirely recovered._

"_Not yet," answered George. "But we will if we stay here much longer."_

_Their decision was made, but before they reached the door it swung open from the outside. A nervous-looking third year whom Harry vaguely suspected was in Ravenclaw glanced around. "Mr. Weasley?"_

"_Yes?" Ron's father answered kindly._

"_Cornelius Fudge is upstairs in Professor Dumbledore's office. He asked to see you?"_

"_Why, oh, never mind. I suppose I'll go see him, then." He and his wife followed the Ravenclaw from the room, and the twins and Ginny left right after them, George obviously herding Ginny and Fred away from the three friends._

"_We should go, too," Hermione said. "I'm a prefect-- don't roll your eyes, Ron!"_

"_Yes, Perce," he answered._

"_There are worse people I could be like than Percy. He was Head Boy, and there's nothing wrong with my wanting--"_

"_About that," Harry interrupted, knowing all too well that when Hermione and Ron started a conversation like this one they would continue for hours or until they had decided to stop speaking to each other._

"_About Hermione's being Head Boy?" asked Ron guilelessly._

"_Almost right but completely wrong. When I came here, I came through the passage from Honeydukes, and McGonagall found me in the hall."_

"_Why weren't you on the Express?" asked Ron._

"_I'll explain later. There's something I want to tell you right now. After McGonagall got through telling off Remus and Sirius for knowing about the secret passages and for the whole unregistered animagus thing--"_

"_They're here? They told about the passages?" asked Ron._

"_**Remus**__?" asked Hermione._

"_Ooo, you're on a first-name basis with a professor. Hermione's jealous. Be glad it wasn't Lockhart."_

"_They're here and they told," said Harry before Hermione could retort. "That's not the point right now. McGonagall took me into this office and said, she said 'this doesn't go beyond these walls--'"_

"_Harry, do you know what 'not beyond these walls' means?" questioned Hermione._

"_She could have meant beyond the castle walls," defended Ron. "Go on."_

"_One thing she said was that Hermione's practically Head Girl already." Hermione gasped._

"_Good. Now she won't be able to talk for the rest of your story." Hermione favored Ron with a slap to the shoulder, but he only grinned. "What else did she say?"_

"_She said that Malfoy will probably be Head Boy."_

"_WHAT? That slimy git, he can't be Head Boy! Everyone hates him but the Slytherins, and for a good reason, too! He'll go around encouraging people to attack Muggle-borns, and Hermione's going to have to work with him!"_

"_That was my thought, too. And McGonagall doesn't seem to wanted it any more than we do."_

"_She'll have to hear Snape gloat."_

"_Exactly."_

"_But she had an idea. She said that there was someone who had a chance of taking Head Boy from Malfoy."_

"_You." It was a statement, not a question._

"_Well, yes. But to be considered I'd have to be a prefect." Harry withdrew the badge from beneath his robes. "Do you think I should accept?"_

"_Haven't you already? You have the badge."_

"_Yes, but I can change my mind."_

"_Are you going to?"_

"_Should I?"_

"_It's not my decision."_

"_I thought you might have something to say. I always ask for your opinion."_

"_You'd just like to know if I'm about to stop speaking to you."_

"_No! Er, I mean. No."_

"_Uh-huh. Listen, I don't think you should let Malfoy be Head Boy without a fight. For the sake of all Gyffindors. And Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, too." Harry nodded. "I might not like everything about you both being prefects, but..." Ron trailed off embarassedly._

_Harry, trying to avoid the tension the conversation with Ron had created, he turned to Hermione. "What do you think?"_

"_I think." She still seemed to be stumbling on her words, a situation which was very much a rarity for Hermione. "I'd rather you be Head Boy than Draco. But isn't it awfully unusual for there to be two prefects in the same house and the same year?"_

_Harry shrugged. "It happened with my parents."_

"_Oh, of course it did." She paused uneasily. "Want to see the Sorting, then?" They did, naturally, and they entered the Great Hall just as the Sorting began. They attempted to move quietly toward the Gryffindor table, but, despite the rather large distraction of the ceremony, heads turned and mouths whispered._

_Fred, George, and Ginny were sitting together and had saved the seats across from themselves for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who took them gratefully, applauding as the Sorting Hat pronounced the newest Gryffindor._

_The Sorting was relaxing for Harry, Ron, and Hermione if not for the first years who were being sorted. It was over quickly, and the tables filled with food after a quick command from Dumbledore, who promptly hurried off. They had barely begun to eat, let alone speculate on Dumbledore's hasty retreat, when Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff in their year, hurried over to talk to Hermione. "They called the new prefects up when you weren't in here," she said hastily. "They're having us meet tomorrow right before breakfast instead of this evening. The passwords were chosen on the train, but you weren't in the prefects' car-- I guess you knew that."_

"_Yes," Hermione agreed. "Thanks, Susan."_

_Susan smiled and turned to leave, but then she caught sight of Harry's badge. "You're a prefect, too?" she asked. "I didn't see you on the list."_

"_It was a last-minute thing," Harry admitted._

"_Congratulations, then."_

"_You, too."_

"_Thank you. I was sure that if they made a Hufflepuff in our year prefect it would be Justin. Maybe they just didn't want Hermione to be the only girl."_

"_No, you deserve it, Susan," said Harry sincerely. He only knew Susan from Herbology, a class which Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs tended to have together, but he had always liked her. At least, he had liked her since their second year, when many of the Hufflepuffs had decided that Harry was the heir of Slytherin and that he had been attacking students, including Justin Finch-Fletchley. Susan had not been one of his accusers, even if she had kept a safe distance. Harry much preferred people who were able to think for themselves to people who did what Ernie Macmillan told them to do-- although he liked Ernie himself well enough._

_Susan nearly blushed. "You'll probably be the one who has to calm the whole hall down, with this rumor."_

"_Which rumor?"_

"_It hasn't reached the Gryffindor table yet?" She rolled her eyes. "People are saying that Sirius Black broke into the school today, and that Cornelius Fudge is here to give him a trial down in one of the dungeons."_

_Harry tried to laugh as if that were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, but as soon as Susan had rejoined her own table, he was on his feet._

"_You don't think it's true?" asked Ron._

"_Fudge is here and wanted to see your Dad. Dumbledore ran off as soon as he opened the feast. Sirius is here," Harry explained out of the corner of his mouth. Ron and Hermione stood, too, grabbing whatever bits of the feast could be easily carried to the dungeons. They did not want to take the time or the risk of running to Gryffindor Tower to collect the invisibility cloak, so they did a great deal of ducking and dodging before they were able to get to the Potions classroom._

"_Never thought I'd be coming in here voluntarily," Ron muttered. _

_They found that however painful their associations with the room might be, it was very convenient just then. They were able to eavesdrop on some of the proceedings thanks to a few tricky spells Hermione had picked up from their new Charms book. Soon enough, though, an assistant astronomy professor entered the room and almost shouted that the castle was being searched for them; they had to testify. The testimony had been simple but nerve-wracking._

Now Sirius stood before Harry in the virtually empty Great Hall, quite probably a free man.

"Hi," said Harry.

"Hi. Nice testimony."

"I wish I could have said more."

"So I gathered from the way you tried to work the jury."

"You weren't even looking at me."

"No, but I have my sources." Sirius and Remus smiled tiredly.

They arrived at the food-laden table just as another figure arrived from the other side. It was Professor Trelawny. Harry suppressed a groan, but she was quiet for most of the meal; in fact, most everyone was quiet, probably out of fear of upsetting Sirius, who did not look at all upset. Even Mrs. Weasley refrained from inquiring further about how Sirius might have happened to break her youngest son's leg. Harry and the Weasely brothers filled the empty space with discussions about quidditch.

As the various diners began to stand, Professor Trelawny turned to Sirius. Harry and Remus, who were sitting beside him, both cringed. "You have the aura of caring very much about Harry. I wish you well," she said breathily, and then glided from the room.

Hermione snorted. "I really must have a mundane mind. I could only tell that Sirius cared about Harry because he hid out in a cave and lived on rats just to be close to him," she muttered to Ron, who grinned.

"You have a mundane mind?" asked Sirius, who had caught the comment.

"Hopelessly mundane." Hermione nodded after Professor Trelawny. "She said so."

"Oh. I don't know why I didn't notice."

Suddenly, Hermione grinned. "Could you go into your Grim form and follow her around for a couple of days?"

"Hermione--" began Remus, but he broke off as if trying not to laugh. They small group had been attempting to converse in low tones, but now all of those assembled seemed to be listening.

"Amusing as that might be, Miss Granger, I don't believe you should pester him or encourage him," said Professor McGonagall crisply. She was clearly trying not to laugh herself.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"Don't apologize."

"No, don't, Miss Granger," added Dumbledore. "But we do have a-- er-- more productive suggestion for Sirius." Sirius raised questioning eyes to the headmaster, who was ushering the students, and a good number of the faculty members, away. When they were almost alone, he spoke again. "And for Remus as well. Since you used your free time as students here in such an interesting manner, we thought that you might like to continue."

"Continue in what way?"

"I would like the two of you to see if you can find some more secret passages. We can't afford to have _real_ Death Eaters sneaking into the castle. And as Sirius _was_ sentenced to remain here until he is formally exonerated, it seems to me to be a very convenient situation."

"We'd be honored," answered Sirius. "But there are a few things I'd like to get done first. Tonight or tomorrow morning."

"And what would those be, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'd like to go to Remus' house and get the paperwork we left there. There's also a… pet… that may have survived the Death Eaters' little raid."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Are you sure you want to go yourself?"

"Yes." Sirius had never been more sure of anything in his life. A brief trip alone was sounding very tempting.

"Well, then, I suggest you make plans to do so. But make sure you are not seen. I'd hate to look like an incompetent jailer."

Sirius agreed, and, in the early hours of the next morning he Apparated to Remus' house. It had not been destroyed, as James' house had been so long ago, only searched and ransacked. Sirius found the paperwork, which had remained well-hidden, and went outside to whistle for Buckbeak. He was pleased when the hippogriff came ambling towards him, apparently unharmed. "We've got to get you somewhere safe, Buckbeak," he said as he bowed and then climbed aboard the beautiful animal. "You can't come where I'm going." He could, however, go to one of the beautiful islands Sirius had found when they had first escaped together. No one would disturb him there.

The flight was rather uneventful, and also rather long. As Sirius patted Buckbeak good-bye and promised to visit, though, he suddenly became aware that they were not, as he had thought, alone. He strained to hear the nearby voices.

"Yes… people inside the Ministry… we'll call it a field trip… he won't be the Boy Who Lived anymore!"

This was worth delaying his return to listen to.


	13. Eight Gryffindors

**Part 13: Eight Gryffindors**

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione were ushered somewhat unwillingly into the Gryffindor common room the night before the first day of classes, they were not especially surprised to see that the whole of the house was still awake and awaiting their return. News of the trial had naturally spread throughout the school, and no one doubted that the three students who had actually testified would treat them to a wonderful, dramatic, and possibly even accurate story.

They laid out the facts before their fellow Gryffindors, or rather Ron, the best story-teller of the three, laid out the facts with occasional input from Harry and Hermione. The attention and interest had finally begun to die down, and Harry was actually looking forward to heading up to his dormitory and going to sleep, when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Professor McGonagall entered.

The bottom fell out of Harry's stomach. Professor McGonagall never entered the common room unless something was seriously wrong. What could have happened now?

"Would all of the students in fourth year and below please go up to their dormitories for the night? And if any of the students in fifth year and above are upstairs already, would their roommates please bring them back down here?" Scrambling ensued, but Professor McGonagall's commands had been obeyed soon enough.

"I need to make an important announcement," she told the fifth, sixth, and seventh years, who had unconsciously arranged themselves by class while checking to see if roommates and classmates were present. "Your classes for tomorrow have been canceled." She looked so serious that the predictable whoop of delight never sounded. "Minister Fudge visited Hogwarts earlier today. It seems that the Ministry had decided that field trip is absolutely vital to your courses of learning."

The students began to glance around at each other excitedly. Although their head-of-house sounded as though she believed a field trip was a ridiculous use of their time, they were thrilled at the prospect of leaving the castle for something other than a Hogsmeade weekend.

"You are all aware, I'm sure, of the recent increase in dark activity. Even a journey to tour Ministry offices," next to Harry, Ron rolled his eyes. He had seen the inside of Ministry offices more times than he cared to count. "can present a danger to so many young witches and wizards."

_Especially when one of them just so happens to be Harry Potter,_ Harry added to himself.

"Because of the dangers, and because we don't trust you" this earned an appreciative chuckle from the groups, especially from Fred and George Weasley "there will be a professor accompanying each of the twelve groups. Professor Cynthia Ryan, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor whom you met at the feast, will go with the seventh years. Professor Sinistra will go with the sixth years. I had intended to go with the fifth years myself, but due to my responsibilities as deputy headmistress, I simply cannot leave the school on the day after the first years arrive. We'll have to do some juggling to find an escort for you," she finished with a pointed look at the fifth years, who were sitting together atop a large homework table.

Blood rushed into Harry's ears. He knew exactly who he wanted for his escort, if he had to have one, and he was trying to think of an appropriate way to phrase his request when Ron raised his hand.

"Yes, Weasley?"

"As long as Professor Lupin is here, can't he take us?"

"Since you testified at the trial, I suppose I can't tell you that that is an unfounded rumor."

"No." Ron shook his head.

"In fact, I'm guessing that you told all of Gryffindor House about this evening's events. Hopefully your story bore some resemblance to the truth."

"Some," Ron agreed hopefully.

"I would like to allow Professor Lupin to accompany you, but there are complications of which you are all very well aware."

"But it's not like we'll be going in the middle of the night. The full moon isn't even for over a week," Seamus Finnigan broke in, adding his voice of support to Ron's.

"That may be, but how would your parents feel about this, Finnigan?"

"They wouldn't care. My Dad isn't even a wizard. If they think Muggles should accept wizards and wizards should accept Muggles, they also think everyone should accept werewolves. They said so."

Dean Thomas took up from his best friend before Professor McGonagall could even comment on Seamus' statement. "I'm Muggle-born. So are Lavender and Hermione. None of our parents have any prejudices against werewolves. Why would they?" Lavender and Hermione nodded earnestly, and Parvati Patil, the last female member of the Gryffindor fifth years, caught her breath and spoke up.

"_My_ parents are a witch and a wizard. Everyone in our family has been magical as far back as anyone can remember, but I know my parents owled the school in support of Professor Lupin when he left. I know because Padma and I signed the letter, too, and we let the owl go ourselves! There must be some way you can check that."

Neville Longbottom, who was often quiet, spoke up, too. "My Gran didn't care, as long as he could actually teach me something. And he could."

Harry's grin had grown broader as each of his friends has spoken. "I don't think I need to tell you what my family thinks of him," he said.

"No, you don't, Potter." Professor McGonagall's expression had changed to something like pride. "You all make a very convincing case."

"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we've ever had," declared Lavender.

"And not just because he's the only one who wasn't, you know, mad," added Hermione.

Professor McGonagall raked her eyes over the group once more. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes!" Eight voices sounded as one: Seamus' made distinctive by his accent, Ron's and Dean's rather louder than they needed to be, Neville's quiet but firm, Hermione's and Harry's almost pleading, Parvati's and Lavender's assertive.

"You want me to look into this?"

"YES!"

"All right. I'll be back in ten minutes or so to let you know what's happened."

The ten minutes passed slowly as some of the sixth and seventh years wandered upstairs to bed and the others complained about the luck of the fifth years. Professor Lupin had been a favorite professor of almost everyone who was not associated with Slytherin House. Finally, though, Professor McGonagall returned, smiling, and before she could give a verbal answer, Seamus and Dean had begun to high-five each other.

When the eight at last went to bed that night, they did so happily.

As happy as he had been to go to sleep after an exhausting day, Harry awoke early the next morning and knew that he had no chance of falling asleep again. Yawning and annoyed, he dressed quietly and went to the common room to wait for the real beginning of the day. Glancing around the room, though, he noticed that he was not alone. Parvati was sitting by the fire, writing on a bit of parchment.

"Parvati? Are you all right?" She whipped her head around at the sound of his voice, and brushed her curtain of black hair, not yet pulled into its usual braid, out of her way.

"Fine. How are you?"

"Tired. It's kind of early."

"Couldn't sleep?" He shook his head. "Me either. I decided not to wake up Hermione and Lavender out of spite, so here I am." She paused as if considering Harry. "I didn't see you yesterday except when we were trying to get Professor Lupin to come with us today, but I wanted to say congratulations on being a prefect."

"Thanks." He must have stared at her for a beat longer than had been necessary, because she gave him a questioning glance.

"What?"

"What? Nothing. I thought you were still upset with me over the Yule Ball last year." He managed not to blush, because even if he was bringing up one of the most horribly embarrassing moments of his life, Parvati was Parvati, and had been around for all of his Hogwarts career even if they had never been close friends.

"I was for a while, but that was a long time ago." She made a face at Harry. "You didn't have to act like dancing with me _once_ was _that_ much of a chore."

"I didn't!" She looked at him hard. "Maybe I did, but it wasn't personal, and it isn't as if you were any better," he added, suddenly feeling defensive even though he had brought up the subject. "You just wanted to go with a champion so you could open the ball and have everyone look at you. That's probably the only reason you even came with me."

To Harry's great shock, Parvati started giggling. While she and her best friend Lavender spent a good portion of their time giggling for the most part, she had been almost angry a moment before. "You're right that I wanted to lead the ball," she answered through her laughter. Then she made an obvious effort to calm down. "But I would have gone with you anyway. I'd have gone with any of the boys in our house and year. You're a nice lot, really."

"Thanks."

"Don't let it go to your head." Parvati threw Harry a smile before beginning to plait her hair. She was glad that she had already put on her makeup; she was not fond of anyone outside her roommates seeing her without it, even though Harry did not seem like the type to notice. He noticed very little about girls and women unless they were named Cho Chang; but, she mused, he had probably gotten over his extremely obvious and no less entertaining crush on Cho after the disastrous end of the Triwizard Tournament that had taken place the previous year.

It was too bad that Harry had had such a rough life, because he was, before all other things, an overwhelmingly decent human being. He deserved to be treated in kind. The nastiest behavior she had ever seen him display, except when he was provoked by miserable Draco Malfoy, had actually been this morning's comment that she had only attended the Yule Ball with him because he had been a champion. He had been wrong, but the remark could as easily have grown out of insecurity as meanness. Those explanations seemed equally unlikely.

After all, Harry could have been much harsher on Parvati. He could have brought up the fact that she had spent a good portion of that night's dinner glaring at Hermione-- her roommate and one of his best friends-- for reasons entirely grounded in vanity. Parvati was a pretty girl, and she worked hard at being beautiful. Daily makeup regimens and careful choices of clothing took up a good deal of her time. Hermione had had no business attempting to out-do her when she already out-did everyone in academic situations. Furthermore, Hermione should not have kept her plans for the Yule Ball a secret from her roommates. That wasn't the way things were done; but Hermione didn't care. Her token female friend was Ron's little sister Ginny, and she seemed to like it that way.

Just as Parvati tied off her braid with a bright pink rubber band that had been waiting on her wrist, stomping sounds began to emanate from the dormitory stairs. The first group of Gryffindors were on their way to breakfast, and among them were Seamus and Lavender.

"Harry," called Seamus. "We saw you weren't in the room. We were looking for you."

"Not very hard, obviously," Harry returned pleasantly.

"It's still early. Coming to breakfast?"

"Waiting for Ron."

"He's on his way. Come on, Lavender, Parvati."

Parvati went off to breakfast with her best friend and her best friend's boyfriend, but as the two became more and more interested in expressing their affection for each other, she felt like more and more of a third wheel. As thrilled as she was to see Professor Lupin-- his lycanthropy did not bother her nearly as much as Mad-Eye Moody's fake eye had-- she did not enjoy the walk into Hogsmeade or the Floo Powder trip to the village in which the Ministry offices were located.

Glancing around as the group headed toward the offices, she saw that Neville was earnestly explaining something to Dean, who, being a Muggle-born, frequently asked questions that even Neville, who had a terrible memory and no scholastic aptitude except in Herbology, could answer. Parvati assumed that Dean's interest in whatever subject they were discussing was doing Neville good, so she did not want to join them any more than she wanted to remain with love-starved Lavender and Seamus. Hermione and Ron were bickering as always, and Harry was walking beside them, allowing their words to wash over him without paying a great deal of attention. Perhaps she could walk with him, then. They had been talking earlier that morning, after all.

She slipped away from Lavender and Seamus unnoticed and sidled up beside Harry. He turned to look at her. "Hi," he said by way of greeting.

"Hi. Having fun yet?"

"Any day we miss Potions is a good day."

"I agree. Oh…" she looked beyond Harry to the street, and his eyes followed her gaze. The Slytherin fifth years were walking down the opposite side of the road, looking haughty and unpleasant as they always did. Seeing that Harry had noticed him, Draco Malfoy instantly began to yell.

"HEY, POTTER! AREN'T YOU AFRAID TO BE OUT OF THE CASTLE? DUMBLEDORE ISN'T HERE TO PROTECT YOU, NOT THAT HE DOES SUCH A GOOD JOB ANYWAY!"

"HEY, PARVATI!" yelled pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, who had been draped over Malfoy's arm, as usual. "YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO STAND SO CLOSE TO POTTER! THEY MIGHT GET YOU WHEN THEY COME FOR HIM! IT'S SAFER WITH US!"

"IT'S A NEW AGE!" Malfoy began before whatever professor was walking with the Slytherins succeeded in shutting them up.

"Thank you for not responding," said Professor Lupin, who had been attempting to settle a reasonably playful dispute between Hermione and Ron when the shouting had begun. His words seemed to be enough to calm down Seamus, Dean, and Ron, all of whom had looked ready to charge across the street and respond with their fists.

Parvati wondered why Harry hadn't been preparing to fight, as well. Ordinarily he flatly refused to let Malfoy have the last word. "It's amazing that they just get worse with age," she said conversationally, wondering if Harry would react.

"I know." Then he looked straight at her, and green eyes met black. "Did you know them before you came to Hogwarts?"

"Unfortunately. Pansy grew up practically next door to Padma and me. Our parents were always telling us to play with the nice little witch down the road-- you know, parents of twins are always worried about how they'll have trouble learning to relate to other people because they always have each other. Especially if there are no other children in the family, just the twins. Pansy's father and Lucius Malfoy have all kinds of dealing together, so Malfoy was always over visiting Pansy. They practically have an arranged marriage, did you know?"

Harry looked dumbfounded. "No, I didn't."

"It's more Pansy's father that really wants it, and she'll do anything to make him happy. She'd also like to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. The power, the money, all of that. Draco's father, he might back out of the arrangement. He'll do whatever's convenient."

"Wow."

"It's not that unusual among old wizarding families, especially ones that are involved in Dark Arts."

"He's involved in Dark Arts?" Harry asked keenly.

"Come on Harry, you had to know that."

"But do you know anything more?"

"You mean did Malfoy used to practice Avada Kedavra on spiders in front of me or something? No. It's just that most families know which families were and weren't on their side in the last war."

"So why did they have their children play together?"

"You-Know-Who was gone. It seemed like a moot point."

"Did you ever have fun together?"

"Not that I can remember. Maybe when we were _very_ young, but I don't think so. It was maybe easier on me than on Padma because Pansy was always picking on her, not on me. I didn't notice what she'd been doing until years later, but she was always finding a way of complimenting me to make Padma feel bad. Just saying things like I was the tough one or the pretty one, but not that bluntly."

"Aren't you identical?"

"Yes. That doesn't mean one of us can't be prettier. Can't you tell Fred and George Weasley apart even though they're technically identical?"

"Sometimes, I guess."

"Well, we spent enough time with Pansy that she could always tell us apart. It's unnerving."

"Oh."

"And since she could tell us apart, she must have thought that one of us was prettier."

Harry was hard-pressed to respond to Parvati's comments, but a memory had just sprung into his head that, in light of this new information, made much more sense. It had been his very first flying lesson, which naturally had always stood out in his mind, but never in quite this way.

_Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madame Hooch, who had her arm around him._

_No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter._

"_Did you see his face, the great lump?"_

_The other Slytherins joined in._

"_Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil._

"_Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson. "Never thought __**you'd**__ like fat little crybabies, Parvati."_

Harry's impromptu character analysis of Parvati ended abruptly when he heard Remus shout at him to get down. He had no time to react before the street seemed to explode. Blinded by the dust that suddenly coated his glasses, he fell low to the ground, instinctively reaching for Parvati to pull her down as well, but she was gone. He clawed at his eyes, trying to see Ron, Hermione, someone, but he saw nothing other than crimson puddles of blood forming on the pavement. The pavement itself seemed to be shaking as if a dragon had been released into the busy streets of the village, but that couldn't be, or could it? The smell of a dragon was not easily forgotten.

Worst of all, although he couldn't see it, Harry was as sure as he had ever been of anything that the Dark Mark was lofting lazily above them.

**  
Note: **_I know that general consensus is that there are ten Gryffindors in Harry's year and we just don't know the names of two of the girls. I don't accept that argument. I don't think it makes any sense that after four solid years Harry has never felt the need to notice two of his classmates when he so frequently notices the other seven. Sure, he isn't very interested in girls, but he would be in class all day with these two and they would be living with Hermione, one of his best friends. When a group of ten people is forced to spend a great deal of time together eating, socializing, and learning, each is bound to affect the others or say something noteworthy at __some__ point._

Additionally, I don't see why there absolutely _must__ be ten students in each class. Ten students may be the average, but that doesn't mean there cannot be eight in one house one year and twelve the next year. The Sorting Hat doesn't know what the last student is like when it sorts the first student; if the last student is the epitome of the Hufflepuff type but the last slot is in Slytherin, it would be horribly unfair to mis-sort that student to keep the averages exact. Perhaps the Sorting Hat is working on a curve (or rather two curves, one male and one female) and can generally put ten in each house, but there are always statistical variations. As for having the same number in each house to make to competition fair, I doubt that they do it, particularly since points can be lost as well as gained. I went to a school that was divided into sections for a yearlong competition, and my team had something like forty fewer students than did the other "half." We won, too. Once, anyway._

Finally, students leave schools, even magical schools. Perhaps they can't run away from Hogwarts as they do from other schools, but they can be very unhappy and convince their parents to remove them. They can transfer because their parents' political views, monetary situations, or places of residence change. They can become ill and take a year off. They can flunk, as Marcus Flint did. They can be killed by tragic accidents having nothing to do with Voldemort. They can be thrown out (although I suppose if Sirius didn't get tossed after the Snape-werewolf incident no one really gets expelled from Hogwarts). If any of these things happen, there will no longer be five students in each dormitory. Most of these things can also happen between the time a student agrees to enroll and the start of the student's first term.

Even if JKR says that there are ten students in each year and house no matter what (I don't know that she has), as far as this story and its sequels are concerned, there are only eight students in Harry's house and year. The title of the chapter will remain as it is, no matter how many reviewers tell me it is an error. :)


	14. Touch and Go

**Part 14: Touch and Go**

The training he had had during and just after his years at Hogwarts allowed Remus to become aware of the disaster before it occurred. He had hoped that his fear that this "field trip" was some sort of trap created by a Death Eater spy in the Ministry had been unfounded, the result of a prematurely aged man's paranoia. Never in his life had he been so disappointed to be proven right.

"GET DOWN!" he yelled at his students, students who had, if Minerva was to be believed, demanded straight out that he be the one to accompany them today. Even as he sprang into action, he worried in a fear-wracked part of his mind that he would not be able to fulfill his unspoken promise to keep them safe.

"GET DOWN!" he repeated. "HARRY! GET DOWN!"

_Oh, God, not Harry._

He crouched against the wall of the nearest building, trying to count bodies.

_Not any of them, but not Harry._

Four. Five. Six. The smoke was thick, and in addition there was a distinct scent of dragon in the air. Seven.

_Not James' son._

He had covered his face and ducked in time, and the blast had neither knocked him off his feet nor impeded his ability to move or observe.

_Not the Boy Who Lived._

Ron's and Hermione's bodies were closest to him. They were both semiconscious and did not seem to be badly hurt.

_Not now, after all he had been through. Not now, not when Sirius was all but free_.

He prodded Ron and Hermione, ordered them to move back until they touched the wall.

_Harry?_

There he was, at last. He was sitting up already; it seemed that he had been neither snatched nor hurt.

_He'll hurt plenty when he starts blaming himself for this._

Harry obeyed his command to back up as if through a haze, but then spoke. "Parvati? Where's Parvati?"

"I'll find her. Stay with Ron and Hermione. NOW!" His voice was sharpened by fear and necessity. Had Parvati been the reason he'd counted seven and not eight?

Neville was whimpering. His arm was twisted in a way that no arm should ever be twisted, but he could walk, and he did. He was much tougher than he looked. Seamus? Seamus. "Dean, can you pick him up?"

"Yes, Sir." He sounded as if he were sitting in class. Was he in shock or did he just have a good head in a crisis? Did it matter?

"Let Lavender hold on to you." Her eyes were so bloodied that she might not see again; she surely could not see now. "Go with them, Lavender. Get against the wall. Stay with the others. Get any kind of shelter you can."

The dust was not hanging in the air as thickly as it had been at first, and he could see the pathetic figures now, though he was cautiously moving further away from them. Ron had taken some of Seamus' weight off of Dean, and Hermione had her arm around Lavender. Harry and Neville had their arms around each other as well, though whether because Neville was in great pain or because Harry couldn't see Remus did not know.

He suspected that the street itself had been blown up, not a nearby building, and it wouldn't do to harm himself on the debris while he was meant to be taking care of eight fifteen-year-olds.

_Was this what it looked like when Peter blew up that street? Could Peter have done this, too?_

Yes, the street was gone. He reached the edge of the nearest crater, keeping his body low, entirely expecting to see the bloodied, broken, rag-doll-limp body of Parvati Patil as he looked down.

He saw nothing.

_Thank you._

"PARVATI? PARVATI, CAN YOU HEAR ME?" There was no answer. _"PARVATI!"_

"Professor?" She had managed to find a tone of voice halfway between a shout and a moan. Remus' head snapped in the direction of the cry, and to his horror he saw that the girl had been forced into a sort of cage that had been magicked so that it would allow her neither to stand up nor to sit down. Instead, she remained in a crouching position, looking unhurt but sincerely frightened. The cage itself was floating in midair, several feet above where the surface of the road had been moments before.

"HOLD ON! I'LL GET TO YOU! DON'T PANIC!"

_I have to get to her. Not just because she's an innocent child caught in the crossfire. Not just because she's my responsibility. Not just because Harry's life might as well be over if one more person dies because she was standing next to him. Not just because she has parents and friends and a twin sister who would miss her desperately if something happens. All of those reasons. More reasons._

He recalled Pansy Parkinson's threat. He would have to repeat that to Dumbledore-- after he got everyone out of this godforsaken village alive.

Thunder rolled, and the ground shook again. No, no, not thunder-- the dragon. How in the world had the Death Eaters brought a dragon into the village without the Ministry noticing? He knew their purpose almost instantly, though; the dragon was a distraction. Remus had pulled enough pranks in his childhood to know a distraction when he saw one. If the terrified students, faculty members, visitors, Ministry employees kept their eyes on the dragon, they might not notice who had conjured the Dark Mark or mouthed the curse that had caused the street to implode upon itself.

The dragon was half-flying, half-scrambling through the street, driven mad by the shrieks of terror and the sharp bits of debris. A man in a black, hooded cloak stepped before it. encouraging it to stay put with jets of flame that soared from his wand in a steady stream. The dragon raged angrily, sending out his own spurts of flame in response.

Not knowing for sure if or when he would have another chance, Remus began to charge straight toward the dragon. If he had to, he would throw a curse at its weak eyes and hope for the best, but its handler seemed to be receiving the brunt of its attention just now. A dragon could be further confused if one passed extremely close to it. Remus could, conceivably, run right underneath the massive body…

… And roll safely out the other side. "PARVATI?"

"Here." Her voice had grown much weaker since he had last heard it. When he had thrown a disarming curse and a leg-locking curse at her guardian (another black-hooded wizard) in quick succession, he magically unlocked the cage.

Parvati fell forward out of her prison and would have hit the ground face-first had Remus not been able to catch her. She gave a low moan as the last of consciousness left her; Remus could feel her blood soaking through his robes. She was coated all over in blood and sweat. Bruises and hex marks adorned every inch of exposed skin. Handfuls of her beautiful hair had been pulled out.

All of this Remus was able to take in at a glance before cradling his sometime student in his arms and bolting across the street once more.

The dragon had moved slightly, and this time Remus was able to dash behind it, skipping across the narrow section of road that was not filled by a crater, carefully avoiding the dragon's thrashing tail.

"Professor Lupin!" Ron's sharp cry directed Remus to an open doorway, and he hurtled through it. Ron slammed the door behind him and sealed it with the simple locking spells that he knew. Remus added a few more without putting Parvati down. "Is she…" Ron was obviously afraid to ask the obvious question.

"She is alive, yes." Remus placed Parvati on a table that stood against the wall of the corridor they had entered. "Any idea where we are?" he asked Ron as he attempted to assess Parvati's situation further.

"We're inside the back entrance of a restaurant. We can't get through the security door into the restaurant itself. I reckon we're pretty safe, because that door we came through is really hard to see unless you know it's there, which I did because this is where Dad takes me to lunch when I visit him at his office."

"Good. How is everyone?-- just Ron answer me," he added as he saw that several of the other students had gathered around Parvati.

"Hermione and Dean and Harry and I are fine, except whatever that first explosion kicked up scratched Harry's glasses so badly that he can't look through them. Neville's arm is broken, between the shoulder and the elbow. It's twisted and it's starting to swell. Lavender got cut all around her face, and she got loads of blood in her eyes. Hermione's trying to get it out, but we don't have any water and she's hurting a lot. Seamus came around but he hit his head really hard. He tried to talk but he didn't make any sense."

"I want you and Hermione and Dean to stay over here. Everyone else get back and stay as hidden as they can. Don't try any healing spells. Harry shouldn't cast spells he can't see and the others are in too much pain to focus properly."

"Hey, you heard him!" Ron snapped at his classmates. "Come on, Hermione."

Hermione pulled herself away from Lavender. She gasped upon getting her first clear view of Parvati. "Is she dying?" she asked after staring long enough to perceive the feeble rise and fall of Parvati's chest.

"It's touch and go," Remus told her honestly. "I don't entirely know what I'm doing, but I need the three of you to keep your heads and we'll do our best to save her."

Hermione, Ron, and Dean nodded solemnly if nervously.

"Right, then. Hermione, can you do a perfect Demian Spell? It's the prelude to most--"

"Cross-species swaps. Yes."

"Good. Point your wand a bit to the left of her heart and do it over and over. It's primitive but it helps keep her blood level up." Hermione set to her task instantly, repeating the spell in a low, urgent monotone. "Dean, clean as much of her blood as you can off of her face and arms and legs. If you get to a cut that's shallow enough to seal, do it. Ron, splint any broken bones that you can, and stay on that side so you can keep an eye on the door. We can't be sure that none of our friends out there know about that entrance." Ron and Dean began to work methodically as well.

Remus used his wand to sear away what was left of Parvati's robes and clothing.

Undressing an exceptionally beautiful fifteen-year-old girl was the absolute last thing in the world that he wanted to do.

Watching an exceptionally beautiful fifteen-year-old girl get undressed seemed to be the absolute last thing in the world that the two fifteen-year-old boys standing by his side wanted to do.

The spells Remus was able to use on her battered torso were strong, but broad, and while Parvati seemed to become more comfortable, she did not regain consciousness.

"PROFESSOR!" Ron jumped forward and threw his body against the hidden, locked door, but he was too late. A masked figure was forcing his way inside their sanctuary.

"DEAN, PICK HER UP! GET HER BACK! TRY TO SHIELD HER!" Dean obeyed promptly just as Ron was knocked backwards into the wall. He managed to raise his wand, though, and cry:

"Expeliarmus!" as the Death Eater entered the room. Remus stunned him before he could turn, quickly, but not quickly enough. His prone form propped the door open so that two of his friends could follow him. Remus found himself pulled into a two-on-one duel. His magic was drained from trying to help Parvati, and while one of his opponents was nothing special, the other was quite good. Remus was aware that Ron was still behind him, waiting for an opening that might allow him to enter the fray, but Ron had never been taught to duel properly so far as Remus knew.

Doing his best not to let on that his magic was reaching its exhaustion point, Remus stepped outside. He maneuvered his opponents in a circle, and stepped back inside.

Ron slammed the door.

Remus had never been so glad to see that one of his students had been paying attention in his life.

Their locking charms had been broken before, so they added new ones, as many as Ron and Hermione knew and all that Remus could remember. "We might have to try to break into that restaurant," he said wearily when a sudden jerking caught his eye. Parvati was twitching oddly, wrapped in Dean's robe and lying in his arms.

"I don't know-- I don't think she's breathing," said the previously level-headed Dean quite desperately.

Remus was feeling rather desperate himself. _Parvati must not die! Not now!_ He tried a quick succession of spells with no luck. As a last resort, he drew her from Dean's lap into his own, then placed her before himself and began to breathe for her, the way Muggles did. This technique was not known to work very well when magical methods had failed, but this was not the time to ignore the possibility of a miracle.

Then Parvati took a shallow, choking breath on her own. Then she half-coughed and seemed to find a steady if labored rhythm of breathing. Then her eyelids fluttered, although her dark eyes were still rolled back in her head. "Parvati? Parvati, can you hear me?" She seemed to respond, and when she next opened her eyes, she looked at Remus with a mixture of sheer terror and sheer confusion. Remus, though, was forced to tear his eyes from his patient's and leap back to his feet when the un-openable door that led to the restaurant flung itself open and a figure dressed in black entered, wand at the ready.

Remus had already stepped forward warily when Ron suddenly shouted "STOP! IT'S OKAY!"

"Ron?" asked the newly arrived wizard eagerly.

"Perce, it's us, my class, that's all."

Now Remus could see Percy's rather distinctive Weasley hair, and could recognize his voice as he asked if his youngest brother was all right.

"I'm fine. Parvati isn't. Seamus isn't. Neville and Lavender kind of aren't."

"Percy, do you have any idea what's going on out there?" inquired Remus, attempting to make his voice professorial rather than commanding.

"Professor Lupin? Not exactly, but it's safe for you to come into the restaurant. We can do the emergency medical Apparitions from there. The streets are almost clear now. The aurors and the hit wizards had good response time, and the group that did this started running." He shoved the door open. "Is it okay for me to pick Seamus up?"

"We think so. It's his head," answered Ron. Percy pulled the semiconscious sandy-haired boy into his arms and led the way. He was followed by a ragtag collection of Gryffindors whom he could hardly bring himself to believe were fifth years already.

"Take him," Percy said to a middle-aged witch in medical robes as soon as he had entered the room.

"Is it desperate?" she asked. "We have wounded coming in from all over."

Percy looked to his brother. "He hasn't totally regained consciousness since the first explosion."

"Has he been treated at all?"

"Not really. We were concentrating on Parva--" Ron's voice broke off in mid-syllable as he saw Parvati in broad daylight. She was still wrapped in Dean's robe, and she looked worse than he could have imagined. The witch looked rather shaken, too.

"Of course, we'll take them both." Seamus and Parvati vanished instantly. Percy had already turned his attention to Neville, and had splinted the broken arm. The odd brightness left Neville's eyes almost instantly as he thanked Percy. Someone had rushed Lavender off to clean her cuts and her eyes properly.

"Are the rest of you lot actually okay?" Percy asked, his eyes focused mostly on his younger brother.

"We're fine, Percy," Hermione answered. He seemed willing to believe her.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

Remus laughed, not a real laugh, but a strange sound that grew out of Percy's oddly formal manner after a long period of desperately barked commands and warnings. "Yes. Do you have time to tell us what you know about what happened?"

"Oh, I definitely should tell _you_ what I know."

"Well?"

"I got a very strange call through the fire in my office a few hours ago. It was from Sirius Black. Dad told me about that trial you had last night, obviously, and he said that he had been spending time with Ron and his friends already." Percy paused to glare at Ron. "So when he said that he stumbled into a Death Eater plot to destroy the village so they could get to some of the students on a trip here-- particularly Harry-- I believed him. I tried to contact the school, but the students were gone and there wasn't anyone around to talk to because they sent so many escorts. No one at the Ministry would look into things until the explosion actually happened, so it just went down to finding my brother, who I knew would be right where Harry was." His voice softened slightly from its lecturing tone. "I hoped you'd think to get in here, Ron. It's about the safest place you lot could have gone." Then he turned back to his former professor. "Sirius Black said he'd try to come here himself but he couldn't leave right away because of Death Eater anti-Apparition spells. He was lucky to find a fire."

Remus privately thought that it was more likely sheer determination than luck, but he did not say so to Percy. Percy soon enough left to help with the damage control, after hugging Ron (to Ron's great embarrassment).

It was not long before Lavender and Neville were Apparated away as well, and Remus was told to take his four remaining students back to Hogsmeade on the Knight Bus. The uninjured students and professors from the other years and houses joined them, and the ride was crowded and subdued. Remus learned that all in all, six Dark Marks had been conjured in the sky above the village; at least ten separate explosions had destroyed the roads leading in to and out of the village; and, yes, a dragon had been transported in, apparently by portkey.

The attacks that came closest to groups of students had been the one he had survived and another that had nearly taken the lives of several Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth years. Not a single student had lost his or her life, as of yet; and more interestingly, not a single Slytherin had been at all hurt. Even the group that had been walking close enough to Remus' class to jeer at them had escaped unscathed.

_HEY, PARVATI! YOU MIGHT NOT WANT TO STAND SO CLOSE TO POTTER! THEY MIGHT GET YOU WHEN THEY COME FOR HIM! IT'S SAFER WITH US!_

Typical teenaged taunting? Or something else?

When Remus had at last delivered his remaining charges to their common room, he found that he had been summoned to Professor McGonagall's office. He was met not only by Minerva but by Sirius.

"All right, Moony? Harry's really all right?"

"Yes and yes." He turned to Minerva and said sourly "And the last time I checked, all of your students were still alive."

She sighed deeply. "Who are we worried about?"

"Principally Parvati Patil and Seamus Finnigan."

"We have the same information, then. Sit down, you look exhausted." Remus sat. "There have been calls back and forth from the Ministry all day. In fact, Albus has left to join them, for an indefinite period of time."

"Indefinite?" asked Remus worriedly. "But the spells protecting the castle--"

"Are now in my control. That's why the two of you are here. Albus believes that this is the best option, even if it _is_ a temporary fix. I simply cannot handle the duties of professor, head of house, headmistress, and keeper of the spells simultaneously. In addition, today's dark activity has sent Cynthia Ryan out on active duty. We knew that was a risk we were taking when we hired an active auror. She left as soon as she returned the seventh years to their dormitory. Therefore, Remus, you are temporary professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and temporary head of Gryffindor House whether you want it that way or not. Neither you nor we have a choice."

Remus sank farther back in his chair. It was dangerous for him to be around school children, especially when his last expedition with them had ended with only half of his students walking under their own power. Still, he loved teaching, and he had no choice. He nearly missed the end of Minerva's speech.

"And Sirius, as much as the idea frightens me and as much as the parents may protest, you may temporarily, _temporarily_, have to teach Transfiguration."

"What?" barked Sirius, obviously shocked. "I can't. I don't know how--"

"I understand, but we do not want the students to have any more free time than is necessary. I'll consider anything you actually manage to teach them a bonus."

"But--"

"Mr. Black, I don't care. Take Mr. Lupin upstairs. It's obvious he almost completely drained his magic while taking heroic measures saving Miss Patil's life. Yes, Remus, I've spoken to the doctors at the hospital and neither Miss Brown nor Mr. Longbottom has stopped singing your praises. I'll speak to you later. Goodbye."

Thus summarily dismissed, Remus and Sirius adjourned to their bedrooms.

"I wouldn't have expected you to call Percy Weasley of all people," Remus commented as they neared their doors.

"Because he had a fixation on Barty Crouch?" Remus nodded. "I assumed he was intelligent enough to get over it. I tried to get to his father first, but he wasn't around, so Percy seemed like a safe gamble, even if Ron has made some _interesting_ comments about him to me. Did it do any good?"

"The more _interesting_ aspects of Percy's personality don't show up when he's in a crisis situation. He's very good at keeping his head and staying in control. Really deserved to be Head Boy. It's just that when things that aren't terribly important are going on, he tends to react as if they _were_ terribly important, which tends to grate on his brothers from what I can tell. Apparently he tried to warn the school and the Ministry, but the school was already taking all the precautions it could and the Ministry wanted to stick its head in the sand. Ron was the one who found our hiding place, and Percy knows how Ron thinks, so he found us and gave us a hand as things were settling down."

Sirius growled. "Things shouldn't have had to settle down. I _knew_ what was happening but I was trapped in their anti-Apparition fields until the mess had already started. I couldn't get through all those barriers to the Ministry buildings in no time flat, so I came here to see what I could do." He shuddered. "It was awful. You're sure Harry's all right?"

"Physically, he's fine. He just ruined his glasses."

"Glasses can be replaced. Did he wreck them while he was trying to act heroic?"

"No, it was the first explosion that got them. He couldn't see well enough to play hero this time."

"So no hundred points for Gryffindor."

"I can't believe you're thinking about that!"

Sirius smiled. "Well, priorities." Remus began to relax, too, in the face of Sirius' smile. With the students locked in their dormitories and the hospital wing, he and Sirius could hardly do anything more for Harry or anyone else that day.

"You really can't put points on what they did today," he said slowly. "Ron was just amazing. He found that hidden door, got everyone inside, kept track of who was hurt where, disarmed a Death Eater, and I can't even tell you what else. Steady the whole way through. So was Dean. Hermione did Demian Spells on Parvati, might have made the difference between life and death. How do you hand out house points for something like that?"

"Easily. One hundred for you, one hundred for you, none for the Slytherins because they didn't get attacked-- is that true?"

"As near as I can tell."

"We ought to rid ourselves of the whole house."

"You ought to be a little more impartial, professor."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I'll worry about that later. Do you have any idea what happened, specifically? How Parvati wound up most of the way along to dead?"

"We were alongside the street when it exploded, or rather alongside one of the streets that exploded. The students toward the front of the group were further from the blast-- Ron, Hermione, and Harry weren't touched. Dean wasn't, either, I think he was walking on the inside and Neville on the outside so Neville's arm caught a shard of something that didn't hit Dean. Lavender and Seamus were trailing behind. I don't know what hit him on the head, but it may have been the same thing that ripped up her face. But Parvati was up next to Harry. I don't think the initial explosion got to her; she looked fine when I first saw her across the street, after the Death Eaters grabbed her. Whatever happened to her, the Death Eaters did before I got there."

"You said she was next to Harry. Is that--"

"I don't know."

"It was in the _Daily Prophet_ that they went to last year's Yule Ball together."

"And on top of that, they had their heads together, talking, the whole walk to the offices. But that's not the interesting thing." Remus repeated Pansy Parkinson's threat.

Things, Remus and Sirius agreed as they entered their separate rooms, were not looking up.


	15. Confusion

**Part 15: Confusion**

**Warning: **_Upcomining inane plot twist!_

Remus grimly reached for the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had just been deposited outside his office and hoped that the crises that one article could cause had been staved off for another day.

It had been just over two weeks since the disastrous aborted field trip to the Ministry offices. Points had been dutifully handed out to the houses of each student who had received a commendation on his or her Hogwarts record, and most of the injured students had returned to class.

Remus had at first been petrified that the Ministry would discover that Sirius had been out of the castle at the time of the attack, but no one who had known of Sirius' whereabouts had spoken up. Dumbledore had twisted Percy Weasley's arm just in time, and Percy had attributed his attempts to stop the field trip to an older brother's paranoia. With Dumbledore spending virtually all of his time at the Ministry, allowing Cornelius Fudge to make very few decisions on his own, inquiries had been few. The _Prophet's_ articles on the attack on the Hogwarts students had been extremely factual and it seemed that the entire wizarding community was gearing up for a war. Because of this new subject, the Prophet and the Ministry had paid Sirius little mind, save a brief report of the trial that had been printed the day after its occurrence.

Skimming the headlines, Remus saw nothing that was cause for immediate concern-- until he reached the very last page.

_The Boy Who Lived and The Man Who Laughed_

_by Helena Jackson, special to the Daily Prophet_

_Almost lost amidst the tragedy of the attack on Ministry of Magic offices two weeks ago has been the Ministry's consideration of the fact that infamous Azkaban escapee Sirius Black may in truth be an innocent man. A preliminary trial was held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the night before the unfortunate events which left the lives of several Hogwarts fifth-year students in jeopardy._

_The final decision will most likely support the jury's recommendation that Black be declared innocent of all charges, most notably the murder of thirteen people with one curse. Exact, formal decisions regarding conditions and possible reparations will be made by Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and William Middleton, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in the coming months._

_While Black's name once inspired nearly as much fear as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's, and his escape from the Fortress of Azkaban two years ago led Minister Fudge to allow the dementors of Azkaban to patrol village streets and even Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the opinions of his jurors have changed one hundred and eighty degrees. Many of the Ministry employees who served as jurors were in tears during Black's closing statement:_

"_My behavior has not always been mature and well thought out. It has not always answered to common sense and it has not always served my best interests. I do not regret that I have not served myself well. I do regret that I have not served Harry Potter well. He is my best friend's son. I have sworn since the day he was born that I would love him. I do. I have sworn since the day he was born that I would take care of him. I have not been able to. He's not the baby he was when I first began to make the mistakes that have kept me from him. He's tall enough to put his head on my shoulder when I hug him and he's old enough to tell me I'm a hypocrite when I ask him to have more sense than I do, although I must say that he only tells me so very politely. I'm asking for the benefit of the doubt. I'm asking to be formally and publicly allowed back into my godson's life when he's in more danger than ever. Please."_

_Black's statement was made even more poignant by the response of his godson, the Boy Who Lived himself. Young Harry Potter nodded in agreement as Black spoke, and silently pled with the jury to accept Black's words at face value. It certainly must seem a fairy tale ending to the boy who grew up in a Muggle community, believing the world to be devoid of those connected to his murdered parents._

_However, the judgment of those in power will not be swayed by the pleas of a fifteen-year-old student. Older wizards and witches remember well the tale of an older Potter or two, that is, the story of James and Lily Potter. These martyrs revered Sirius Black as a dear friend. Stories of the boyhood adventures of Sirius Black and James Potter abound: two notorious jokesters and charmers enjoying their lives thoroughly. Black in particular has been described as "the kind of man that made women walk into walls." Young Harry Potter, desperate to be loved, is certainly at least as susceptible to Black's oaths of loyalty and witty promises of a happy life as his father was. He has already voiced hopes, according to a source at Hogwarts, of going to live with his notorious godfather during school vacations. _

_Black's ability to care for his godson during vacations is in doubt even if Black is indeed an innocent man; statements at his recent trial revealed that he attempted suicide repeatedly during his term in Azkaban and that he may be mentally unstable. Further doubt can be cast on Black's character and the character of his connections when one considers that Black's childhood wand, which provided crucial evidence during the trial, is alleged to have been removed from a Ministry storehouse and given to Mr. Middleton moments before the trial began._

_If even a chance remains that Black's rather far-fetched tale of illegal animagus transformations and betrayals is indeed untrue, perhaps Minister Fudge and Mr. Middleton will decide not to take the risk of allowing the worst enemy of our unsuspecting young hero back into his life._

"Garbage," Remus grumbled as a knock sounded on his door. "Come in."

"About ready for breakfast?" asked Sirius as he opened the door and lounged against its frame.

"Exactly ready. Did you read the _Prophet_ this morning?"

"Not yet. Why? How bad is it?"

"Perhaps Minister Fudge and Mr. Middleton will decide not to take the risk of allowing the worst enemy of our unsuspecting young hero back into his life," Remus quoted.

"Who wrote it?"

"Helena Jackson."

"One of the ones who's a mouthpiece for Fudge and nothing else."

"Right."

"Fudge will hear from Dumbledore about that."

"But the damage may already be done."

"If it is, it's not worth worrying about."

"Padfoot."

"We'll worry when we know more about what's going on, unless Snape decides to read that article to his classes so he can embarrass Harry. Think he will?"

"He seems to be a bit preoccupied with his other duties." Remus closed and locked his door as he spoke.

"Think he knows--"

"Don't say things like that out loud!"

"Like what?" Sirius gave his friend a falsely innocent look. "I was just wondering if Snape knew that that Ravenclaw prefect is coming back to class today."

"His name is Terry Boot. It might do you well to learn it before you have to teach him."

"I don't teach my students. I baby-sit them. You know that."

"I'd forgotten. It must have been because I was thinking about how wonderful it was to see the first years running about talking about how amazing it is to be able to turn a match into a needle."

Sirius shrugged. "The smart ones just pick it up from the textbooks sometimes."

"That must be it."

"It has to be. I let them spend class playing Exploding Snap and talking to each other."

"I understand."

"Speaking of talking in class, does Harry usually?"

"You mean to his friends when he thinks the professor isn't looking? No more than most. No less, either."

"That, and does he answer questions?"

"Not usually, but if you single him out he'll almost always know. He'll volunteer sometimes if he feels sorry for the professor or if he really, really wants someone to shut up. Is he giving you a problem?"

"No. But he's very busy being prefectorial and watching the Quidditch tryouts, and I'm very busy being professorial and doing my part to keep Voldemort from gaining any more power and I barely see him. He's avoiding me, actually. I told him to come see me if he ever wanted to talk to me not in the professor-student way, and he hasn't. I'm not going to force the issue because none of the other students have their guardians living in the castle with them, but I'm trying to figure out how to judge his mood from how he acts in class."

"The dynamics of that class are off in general. I expected it to get better when Parvati and Seamus came back, but it's worse. They all try very hard to please me, of course, and sometimes I'm tempted to yell at the lot of them to loosen up, but they seem to be on the skittish side. Harry included. The other day before I walked into the room…" Remus let his voice trail off as several Slytherin sixth years walked past them, nodding begrudgingly to their instructors.

"The other day," Sirius prompted when the coast was clear.

"The other day I paused outside the classroom. Most of the class was late, but Harry and Hermione were there because they'd been at a prefects' meeting and not at History of Magic. Parvati must have had an appointment with Madam Pomfrey and missed class as well--"

"Very wise of her."

"Yes. But she was waiting with Harry and Hermione, and she mentioned something about having difficulty with their first assignment. Harry's never gotten anything less than perfect marks from me, and he offered to help her. She said that it would take up too much of his time and that would be unfair and uncomfortable because they weren't really friends to begin with."

"So?"

"Two years ago I would have said that made perfect sense, but they were very friendly the day she got hurt."

"Is that the problem? She thinks she was hurt because she was with him, like the little Slytherin bitch said?"

"Sirius!" Remus looked around wildly, fully expecting someone who would be willing to repeat Sirius' thoughts on his student to the Hogwarts board as well as the Ministry of Magic, the _Daily Prophet_, and selected Death Eaters. Luckily, he saw no one. "Be careful, would you?"

"I was being careful."

"I'm sure."

"Do you think that's Parvati's problem?"

"It could be. It could be that she doesn't want much to do with any of her classmates. It's hard to be a teenaged girl and know that most of your male classmates have seen you naked and bleeding to death." Sirius nodded solemnly. He well recalled Remus' own reaction the first time he, James, and the rat had seen one of his monthly transformations-- and they had all been close friends of the same gender. "But she's pulling away from Lavender, too. They weren't even sitting together last time I taught them. I believe it's the first time I've seen that happen."

They reached their destination, and Remus broke away from Sirius briefly to ask the Gryffindor prefects if all was well in Gryffindor House. Not a single major prank had been pulled since he had been given temporary control of the Gryffindors, and he wondered if this was the calm before the storm or a concentrated attempt by his students to keep him at Hogwarts once the crisis died down. Many of his students had dropped not-so-subtle hints that they had no interest in learning from Cynthia Ryan when she returned and would much prefer it if he remained. He knew that granting them their wish was an impossibility, but the existence of the wish did him more good than he cared to admit.

Arriving at last at the high table, Remus discovered that Sirius was holding court, as usual. Sirius had been on his best behavior while teaching classes, knowing that his every move was being scrutinized and that his freedom or his ability to continue to see Harry might depend on the level of maturity he displayed. As a result, he was more loquacious and teasing and just plain silly than ever when he held conversations with non-students outside of class. "It's not my fault, you understand," he was saying to Professor Flitwick, who was giving him a dubious glance. "It's not as if I wasn't watching them, and most of the students in that class aren't capable of that level of transfiguration yet anyway. And I certainly didn't do it myself." He turned as he saw Remus approach. "You believe me, don't you?"

"You're a temporary substitute professor. It's only natural that the students would test you. You can't catch them every time."

"But they were Ravenclaws. Ravenclaws don't _do_ things like that."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Ravenclaw is the house of the intelligent. I think it's entirely possible that they're just too smart to get caught."

Sirius made a face. "The Sorting Hat almost put you in Ravenclaw, didn't it?"

Remus smiled enigmatically. Among the very, very few things he had deliberately never told his friend was that, when the Sorting Hat had wavered between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw (after a very nearly snide comment about how he would not last a year in Slytherin), he had thought with all his might, _Put me with Sirius! _ They had just met, and at the time Remus had believed himself to be speaking on a whim, but as the years passed he realized that he had been wiser than he knew.

Sirius was made unable to force the issue, if he had had plans to do so, when Severus Snape stalked past them. "Still having trouble controlling your classes, Black?"

"The classroom is bewitched," answered Sirius without a hint of teasing in his voice. "It might even be sentient."

Failing to get a rise out of Sirius, for once, Snape moved on.

"Listen, Padfoot," sad Remus after a moment. "Switch classrooms with me today."

"Why? What did you do to yours?"

"Can you honestly tell me you think I have time to enchant a classroom?"

"No, but you've amazed me in the past."

"Switch with me, and we'll see if anything odd happens to my classes."

"Deal." They shook on it.

Remus' first few classes were far from eventful. The Slytherin sixth-years, naturally, were snide and sullen and forced him to take points, but the Hufflepuff third-years were eager and fun to teach. He remembered the group fondly from his previous stint as a Hogwarts professor, and they did not disappoint him. They dawdled as the class ended, laughing and asking him questions, and he was forced to shoo them out to allow the entrance of the class that, had he been less impartial, would have been his favorite.

Dean and Seamus came in first and sat in the front seats, grinning at him. Seamus had been no less rambunctious or quick-witted than usual once he had recovered from the blow to his head. He regularly commented that such a blow might cause a difference in the mental capacity of some, but that that was not an issue with him. Still, Remus knew full well that Seamus had been missing homework assignments and classes at a rate over and above his usual because of debilitating headaches. Madam Pomfrey was confident that the headaches would stop eventually, but while they lasted they were one more physical reminder that hell had begun to ascend.

Lavender wandered in next, looking slightly distracted, and then came Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville in a group. Ron, Hermione, and Neville all smiled at Remus, and he easily returned the gesture, noting that Harry seldom smiled now. Perhaps Sirius should break his resolution not to seek out Harry except as a professor.

Parvati arrived last. She looked strained and exhausted beneath her dark complexion, but she had insisted on returning to class as soon as possible. She had brushed off her injuries even more than Seamus had; she had not missed a single class or assignment even when her instructors, without prompting, had offered her extensions or excuses.

Confident that he had the attention of the Great Eight, Remus began to speak. "As you have already heard no fewer than ten thousand times, you will be taking your OWLs at the end of this year. Today you will be getting your first Defense Against the Dark Arts review. This is not to punish you or torment you. This is not because I'm a natural sadist, or because Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall want revenge on you for everything you've put them through in the past four years. This is because I, or Professor Ryan" on cue, the class scowled at the name "need to know where you are weak so that we can help you get the best marks you can. We're going to review some basic magical creatures today, because you learned them with me in the first place and I am of course the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor you have ever had."

Most of the class members chuckled and seemed to relax slightly, as the word "OWL" struck a chord of deep panic in the heart of the average Hogwarts fifth-year, but Seamus raised his hand. "Yes, Seamus?"

"Sir, with all due respect, that isn't saying much." The class laughed again.

"Be that as it may, you're going to spend this class being drilled. You have my deepest apologies, but this is a necessary evil." Most of the students still looked vaguely frightened; Neville was perhaps a bit more apprehensive than the rest, and Hermione's nerves were obviously tempered by excitement. "Don't raise your hands. I'll call on you. Now put away your books." The class obeyed. "Dean!" he snapped. "How do you convince a kappa not to harm someone?"

"Throw it a cucumber with the person's name carved on it, sir."

"Good. Lavender, where are you most likely to find a Red Cap?"

Lavender still looked groggy, but she replied almost as promptly as Dean had. "Northern Europe."

"Correct. Neville, in what _type_ of a place in Northern Europe would a Red Cap live?"

"Er . . . a battle ground. Somewhere where there's been blood spilled?"

"Perfect." Neville looked relieved. "Ron. What's the trick to getting past a grindylow?"

"Break his grip," Ron snapped back, and tossed a victorious look at Harry and Hermione. Remus decided that he had best call on Hermione before she gave herself an aneurysm while waiting.

"Right. Hermione, what finishes off a boggart?"

"Laughter." The class began to suppress giggles; this particular group would never forget its first experience with a boggart.

"Good. Harry, how does a human become a werewolf?" Harry looked as if he had expected his professor to save the werewolf question for him, but he did not look as if he minded.

"When he's bitten?" Harry sometimes answered questions with a question even when he knew full well that he had the correct answer.

"Is that the only way?"

"Yes." There. A statement, not a question.

"Thank you. Parvati, what is dangerous about a hinkypunk?" Parvati had been working far too hard since her return to classes, and Remus made a point of throwing her a question to which she would know the answer. She had always, if given a choice, written her essays about hinkypunks. Remus had no idea as to why. She was very talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts in general; of course, Gryffindors tended to be that way. It was Ravenclaws, more prone to sliding by on their natural intelligence than to practicing hexes, and Hufflepuffs, who almost never had a taste for fighting or defense of any kind, who struggled.

Parvati was silent.

"Parvati? What is dangerous about a hinkypunk?" Remus repeated, bending his knees so he could look her in the eye and see if she had even heard him.

Parvati remained sullen. Remus had decided to give her some slack and hand the question to Seamus when he suddenly had a terrible, horrible thought. He attempted to make the thought go away. _You're being paranoid,_ he told himself. _You're looking for a complicated explanation when a simple one is infinitely more likely. _But he had to ask.

"Miss Patil!" he said in his sternest voice. The other students exchanged stunned looks; they were not used to him scolding his students for not knowing an answer, particularly when he knew all too well what recent weeks had been like for the student in question. Miss Patil, look at me!" She raised her eyes. "Are you Parvati or Padma?" The class gave a collective gasp.

Remus hastened forward and cupped her chin in his hand. She seemed to be struggling, fighting, not knowing whether or what to answer. "Are you Parvati or Padma?" he repeated.

"I-- I-- I--" She managed only one word before bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry about this," he said in as comforting a voice as he could muster before drawing his wand and stunning his student. She collapsed bonelessly into her chair, and he pulled her into his arms and fled the room, pausing to touch Hermione on the shoulder and tell her to act prefectorial and run the class.

Remus had stormed into the nearest fireplace, and warned Minerva that he was coming to see her seconds before jumping through the fire into her office, before he became aware that Harry had followed him from the room. Why? He could not afford to worry about that just now.

"Minerva!"

"Remus, what is going on? Oh! Parvati?"

"I don't think so. Would you mind pulling out that map you confiscated at the end of last year? The work of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?"

"Of course. Is she all right?"

"I stunned her. The map--" She found it quickly, and Remus scanned the image for his own name. Yes, there he was-- and close by him was Padma Patil.

"Where are the fifth-year Ravenclaws right now?"

"What?"

"Can't you check?" he asked frantically, wondering why his old professor seemed so disconcerted.

"Yes. They're in Charms."

"Charms." There was a dot there, as there should have been, labeled Padma Patil. Minerva had worked out his train of logic, and so saw the incongruity almost as soon as he did.

"It makes sense now. When I saw Parvati right after she was taken on that field trip, she looked fine. When I looked up, she looked as if she'd been abused for an extended period of time. They must have switched them then, and taken Parvati. The Ravenclaws were one of the first groups sent to the hospital, so a professor wouldn't be there to see Padma gone, and by the time we'd started counting noses again back it Hogwarts they had her under the Imperius Curse and probably using a time-turner." He reached for the neck of the limp form he still held, and proved himself right by extracting a fine chain which held an hourglass. "She'd been acting like she didn't know anyone in Gryffindor. She was probably trying to fight the curse."

Minerva nodded. "It's far-fetched, but we'll take a chance that you're right. Go to your office, now! You know what to do?"

"Yes." He stepped back into the fire with his precious cargo. Almost as soon as he arrived at his office, he found himself joined by Professor Flitwick, who was floating an unconscious Patil twin along before him with his wand. Harry also arrived, having run from the Transfiguration classroom without the use of fire. "Harry, go back to class."

"No."

"Now, Harry!"

"No. This is partly my fault, and I want to be here!" Remus began to reprimand Harry more strongly, but then decided that it was a waste of precious time.

"Are you ready?" he asked the tiny Charms professor.

"When you are," replied Flitwick. Together, they revived their students. The Ravenclaw slumped into a chair, and the Gryffindor slid from Remus' arms to lean against him.

"Tell me who you are," said Remus, harshly, to the girl he half-held.

"Pad- Parvati Patil."

"And who is this?"

"My sister. Padma."

"What is this?" Remus extracted the time turner he had seen moments before, and Flitwick reached around to find a similar device on the other girl's neck.

"A time-turner."

"Illegal, you know."

The girl burst into fresh tears that washed away the ones that had been drying on her face. "I-- I-- I couldn't get my work done. I felt so sick, and scared, after the Death Eaters-- hurt me."

"Where did you get it?"

"I found it."

"Professor Flitwick, would you mind calling the Ministry to see if any time-turners have been reported as missing?" The girl seemed to choke, and quavered unknowingly.

"Of course, Professor Lupin." The tiny wizard moved toward the fire, but turned, his wand drawn, pointed at the girl who had spoken. He began to murmur charms more quickly than most wizards could remember them, and Remus began to speak too, softly, into her ear.

"Padma, fight it. He can't throw off the Imperius Curse for you. You have to throw it off yourself. Don't listen to the voice in your head. Listen to me." His voice grew intense and urgent. "Padma. You are Padma. Can you tell me that?"

Her fathomless dark eyes burned as she sought to obey her professor. "I'm Padma. I'm-- why are you making me say this? Why are you doing this to me? I'm _Parvati!_ That's Padma, right there! Ask her!"

"She's almost got it," Remus said, directing his attention to Flitwick now. "It's not a powerful wizard holding her down. It's a student." Back to the shaking figure in his arms. "Padma! You can beat this! Padma!"

She shuddered, and Remus was forced to grab her more tightly to keep her from falling. "They'll kill her, no, they'll kill her."

"Do you know where she is?" Remus asked, not even asking who "she" was.

"No."

"Do you know who took her?"

"Them. Death Eaters. Black hoods."

Remus pointed at the second girl, who was still quiet. "Is she your past self or your future self?"

"Past." Padma staggered again, and Remus sat down in the chair behind his desk, pulling her into his lap. Under ordinary circumstances, he supposed he could be fired for cradling a female student in his arms, but she simply looked too fragile to be put down.

"You've done well," he whispered to her. "You're all right now. We will get to your sister."

"Can they put it back on me?" she asked in a voice that should have belonged to a child much younger.

"No. Not without a clear shot, which means I'd see them. Besides, I don't think whoever put this on you did it without help."

"No."

"Can you tell me what you remember?"

"They hit me. Burned me. Cut me with a knife. Then they held me on my back so I couldn't see who was pointing the wand at me, they were wearing hoods anyway, but two people were talking at least, it seemed like everyone said, I was so dizzy . . . ."

"Okay. You don't have to say anything more."

"Where?" She suddenly summoned her strength and sat up, lifting her head from Remus' chest. "Where did she go? And Professor Flitwick?"

"He took her to his office to do a memory charm on her. She'll use the time-turner and become you, and she'll throw off the curse and be free."

The fire next to them sprang to life.

"Remus!" came Minerva's voice. "What's happened?"

"She threw it off. This is the future Padma and she was under the Imperius Cruse."

"Do you know who put it on her?"

"A student, I suspect."

"Does she remember?"

"She remembers the curse, but she couldn't tell who did it. What about Parvati?"

"We're rushing through old hiding places and contacting potential kidnappers as fast as we can. Since they know we know, they'll have to return her."

_Or kill her,_ Remus thought but did not say while Padma was still on his lap.

"Take Padma to the hospital," Minerva commanded, and Remus obeyed.

He remained with Padma as Madam Pomfrey gave her potions to drink and tapped her with a wand. Blessedly soon after the examination and treatment had ended, Minerva entered the room.

"She's in no danger?" she inquired.

"No," answered Madam Pomfrey.

"Parvati?" Remus asked in a low voice, not wanting to be expelled from the hospital wing before his question was answered.

"We have her."

"Is she alive?" His voice was below a whisper now, even though he was quite certain that Padma was asleep.

"She is alive. She was tortured, and she's been taken to a hospital, but she is alive."

"Prognosis?"

"Good."

"Any idea who laid the Imperius Curse?"

"No. We can't even find the wand. Whoever it was must have felt her starting to break through and was getting worried."

"Perhaps even standing close enough to hear us talking in my office."

"You feel that way?"

"It's just a guess."

"Well, they've been given enough time to retrieve it and dispose of it now." She sighed deeply.

"Professors?" Their conversation was broken by a well-known voice.

"Potter! What are you doing here? And a prefect, too!"

"I heard the whole-- when they were making Padma break the curse-- and I knew that the secret passage was right there--"

"Potter, please tell me you did not attempt to track down the culprit on your own."

"I didn't. There were too many places he could have gone. But he dropped--" Harry held out a short, maple-colored wand.

Remus doubted that Minerva was upset with Harry any longer.

Harry turned to leave, at the orders of Madam Pomfrey, but he threw Remus a smile over his shoulder.


	16. Convocation

**Part 16: Convocation **

"Wait a second." Ron buried his head in his hands and looked up helplessly at Sirius, who was trying not to laugh. "Who did Hermione do those Demian spells on the day we had the field trip to the Ministry and we got attacked?"

"Padma," Sirius answered flatly, leaning back on his arms. He, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting beside the lake and discussing the events of the previous few days.

Ron groaned. "It's confusing enough, and then when you bring in time-turners…" he threw his hands in the air helplessly as he trailed off.

"So," said Hermione intensely, eager as always to comprehend the entire saga. "The Death Eaters attacked us, probably to get at Harry. But they didn't or couldn't get to him directly. They snatched Parvati instead, and they also took Padma from the Ravenclaw group."

"They probably got Padma first," Harry added.

"Right," continued Hermione. "They got Padma, beat her up, and then they got Parvati. They replaced Parvati with Padma because they're identical twins. Professor Lupin saved Padma thinking she was Parvati, but by then Padma was already under the Imperius Curse even if she was too sick to try anything whoever was controlling her wanted to do. Whoever put Padma under the Imperius Curse also gave her a time turner so she'd be able to be both Padma and Parvati. And she was also threatened, told that they would kill Parvati if she broke the curse. But she broke the curse anyway, in Defense Against the Dark Arts last week."

"Congratulations, Hermione. I'd give you points for Gryffindor for that explanation if I could," answered Sirius.

"But why would they want to hold Parvati hostage?" she pressed on.

"There are a lot of potential reasons, not the least of which is 'because they could.' It's fun for them to embarrass the Ministry or Hogwarts. They may have wanted to see if she could give them any information about Harry. They may have wanted revenge on someone in her family. The Patils have never had any involvement in dark magic. Perhaps they could have eventually traded her for something they wanted. There's also the rationalization that if Parvati had been at school, she would have seen that Padma was acting under the influence of the curse. Parvati has more practical ability in Defense Against the Dark Arts than Padma does, and if they had tried to put the curse on her, she might have broken it more quickly, and they would not have had someone who could walk around Gryffindor Tower undisturbed under their power."

"In other words, you don't know," said Ron.

"In other words, I don't know," Sirius agreed.

"Do you know who was using the Imperius Curse?" Ron continued keenly.

"No. We know that the wand Harry found was the weapon used, but it didn't belong to any of the students at Hogwarts. It wasn't even an Olivander wand."

"Parvati's going to be all right, though? And Padma?" Harry took over the line of questioning.

"Absolutely."

"No one's been allowed to see them. Well, Parvati's not even here but I've heard that Padma's friends haven't been allowed to see her," Hermione persisted.

"I saw her. I saw her yesterday."

"_Why?"_

"She was upset. Sometimes people who have been through an ordeal will fixate on one small thing, and she fixated on the day she transfigured all the desks in my classroom into wild boars and a few of her classmates got hurt. Some of the professors thought I did it myself-- which of course I would have when I was fifteen, if I'd thought of it. There is a passageway right above her seat in that room, so it was very easy for her to be controlled in that class. It's amazing that she managed to start to throw it off while she was there, even with Remus coaching her. It wasn't her fault. She didn't have to apologize for that any more than she had to apologize for anything else she did." Sirius shrugged.

Harry and Ron both thought it possible that Hermione muttered something along the lines of "It's not that she feels bad about it, it's just that she thinks you're hot," but surely she did not, because if she had, neither of her best friends would ever have let her hear the end of it, and they would have begun a fresh round of Gilderoy Lockheart jokes to boot.

There were really no more questions the three friends could have asked Sirius, but if there had been, they would have been delayed by the arrival of Harry's owl, Hedwig. She gave Harry a customary affectionate nip on the ear, but delivered the message she held in her beak to Sirius.

_Dear Mr. Black:_

_As you already know, the professors of Hogwarts and selected representatives of the Ministry of Magic are as of this moment gathered in the conference room inside the Hogwarts Castle considering the matters of the formal outcome of your trial and the status of the potential conflict with followers of You-Know-Who._

_Attendance is of course not required, but we strongly request your immediate presence._

_Sincerely,_

_Cornelius Fudge_

_Minister of Magic, Member of the Dark Force Defense League, Order of Merlin (third class), Honorary Mugwump, Member of the Unicorn Trinity, Keeper of the Aingingein Gem, Former Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes, Honorary Member of the Enchanted Order of Medea_

As Sirius rolled his eyes and handed the paper to Harry to read, Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, dropped from the sky, wings flapping madly, and brought Sirius another note.

_Padfoot--_

_Ignore the note you have just received if you would like. Things are unlikely to go any way but ours. The Ministry will do anything to avoid any more embarrassment, as the Patil twins' parents are understandably seriously displeased and have been showing their displeasure publicly. Public confidence in the Ministry is not high._

_The following conversation actually occurred before the meeting started._

_Fudge: Then we have the matter of the wand's removal from Ministry storage facilities soon before it was to be destroyed._

_Dumbledore: The Ministry is having difficulty with its storage facilities as well as with the ability to keep Death Eaters out of its midst? We may have to work on this, Cornelius._

_(It looks like the ends justified the means this time.)_

_If I were you, I would show up after they finish hashing out your pardon. That should be in about twenty minutes. You may actually want to hear about the official war plans first-hand._

_Say hello to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I wish I were out there and not in here._

_--RJL_

Sirius looked up to see three questioning looks directed at him, so he handed over Remus' note to be re-read as well. Then, he asked Hermione for a quill and a scrap of parchment from the bag she had dragged outside with her and began his response.

_Dear Minister Fudge:_

_I would love to attend the meeting you mentioned; however, I am busy catching up on lost time with my godson. I try to see him as often as I am able; perhaps it is a result of being unjustly kept from him for twelve years._

_Assuming that I am declared innocent, I have some suggestions for the Ministry that may encourage me not to use my charming personality to convince the Daily Prophet and any other publication that will listen to me that the Ministry is every bit is incompetent as their readers' worst nightmares, and the recent statements of a certain Mr. and Mrs. Patil, might suggest._

_I would like full, undisputed custody of my godson. I want all time-consuming Ministry regulations bypassed so that formal custody papers (and formal adoption papers if Harry so desires) may be signed and accepted as legal today._

_I would like all of my assets to be returned to me with appropriate interest. Reimbursement for the money I would have made had I not been unjustly imprisoned would not be out of order, either. I shall not mention compensation for torture as long as my other suggestions are accepted._

_I would like a safe place of residence to be provided for my godson and me during his summer holidays._

_I would like any and all charges against anyone who is perceived to have helped me after my escape from Azkaban to be dropped._

_I would like my godson to be allowed to obtain an Apparition license as soon as he is able to perform the appropriate spell, regardless of his age. He is too much of a celebrity and too much of a target to be left without this protective measure._

_Should a certain flying motorcycle be returned to my custody at some point in the future, I would like it to be exempted from the Phillips Clause of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Act under a grandfathering arrangement._

_And I want my wand back!_

_Sincerely,_

_Sirius Black_

_Wrongfully Convicted Prisoner, Azkaban Escapee, Unregistered Animagus, Purveyor of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers_

He tied the note to Hedwig and sent her back as she had come.

"Sirius?"

Harry's voice broke the reverie Sirius had not known he had sunk into. "Yes, Harry?"

"Are you sure you shouldn't go?"

"Yes, I'm sure I shouldn't go. The important thing isn't Cornelius Fudge. The important thing is you. Now that Dumbledore is back, I won't be teaching you anymore. I have some things I want to say to you."

Hermione took her cue and jumped to her feet. "Come on, Ron," she said.

"What?" asked Ron lazily, his eyes half-closed.

"I want to see what the lake looks like from over there."

"So go see."

"I want you to come. _Please?"_

"All right." Ron dragged himself up off the grass and followed his friend.

Harry grinned at Sirius. "I'll bet that's almost exactly how she kept him from following me out of Remus' class the other day."

Sirius returned the smile. "He does look rather like he fancies her. Does that bother you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. It might, a little bit, under some circumstances, but knowing them they'll never get around to actually dating each other, or it won't last long if they do. But if they did, it could be good. They're my two best friends, and they're, you know, good for each other. And I see Ron without Hermione because we live in the same dorm, and Hermione without Ron because we're prefects, so its fair that they should have things without me, even if it's something a little more important. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No. I don't want to talk about your friends. I want to talk about _you_."

"I'm not that interesting."

"You're the only person in the entire wizarding world who believes that."

"Wouldn't I know better than the rest of the wizarding world?"

"Perhaps. You know a lot of things, including how to change the subject."

"What subject did I change?"

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Okay, but it will be awfully hard for you to talk with me if I do."

"You are allowed to answer my questions. You are not allowed to speak out of turn or distract me." Harry raised his hand, as if he were in class. "Yes?"

"So is this more like a class, or more like a hearing?"

"A class."

"Which one?"

"Transfiguration. What did you think?"

"I was just hoping it wasn't Potions. Or Divination."

"We aren't going to talk about the future. We're going to talk about the past."

"I'm not that crazy about History of Magic, either."

"Not that far in the past."

"Oh. How far?"

"I think maybe we should go back to the start of the term."

Harry made a face. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Why?"

"You and Remus have both been watching me like you want to say something to me but you're holding back."

"Very perceptive of you."

"You know what else I perceive?"

"What?"

"That they're waiting for you inside."

"They aren't waiting for me. They want me to go in there, but I'm not going to. This is more important. _You're_ more important."

"You keep saying that."

"If I keep saying it, you might be listening one of these times."

"Fine. I'm important. You love me. I love you. Are we done?"

Sirius decided that, given Harry's sarcastic mood and his attempts to avoid having a serious conversation, he should not react outwardly to Harry's next-to-last sentence, no matter how wonderful it might have made him feel. "No, we are not. We haven't even started. I'd like you to tell me what happened the day you had your field trip."

"Don't you read the _Daily Prophet_?"

"Not when I want to know what's really going on, no."

"Point taken."

"What happened, then?"

"How do you mean? I know you know most of what happened. I can't imagine that you and Remus haven't gone over this point-by-point."

"I mean, what happened to you, personally?"

"Personally? I ruined the glasses I was wearing and even though I didn't get hurt I couldn't help very much. I stayed with Neville. I tried to take his mind off his arm and he told me what was going on."

"I think the whole school was surprised that you didn't get points for Gryffindor and a special commendation."

"What are you saying? Are you upset with me?"

"No. Are you upset with you?"

"No. My ego is intact. If anything, I'm glad that Ron got the attention. He deserves it. He really is good."

"He's very good. Are you upset about Parvati?"

"I'm sorry that she got hurt. She doesn't deserve that. No one does."

"That's not exactly what I meant."

"I can't help you if you don't say what you mean," said Harry in a generic-professor-imitation.

"True enough." Harry was obviously going to force Sirius to say this straight out. "Did what happened to Parvati and Padma remind you of what happened to Cedric?"

"They aren't dead, and he is."

"I don't think you need me to tell you how close they came to death."

"Is Parvati really all right? Really?"

"Really. She is very much all right. She is going to make a complete physical recovery and she is going to be able to come back to school by the end of the term if she and her parents decide that she should. That doesn't change the fact that she was held captive and tortured, and that she probably suffered much more than Cedric did."

"Part of the reason they took her probably _was_ because she's been associated with me."

"It could be."

"But there are other things, too. Her family, where she was, having a twin sister."

"That's also true."

"Are we ever going to know the whole story? Whose wand that was, who used it on her?"

"Probably not. The aurors tracked down six Death Eaters who were there that day, and they have confessions, but not confessions specifically about kidnappings. They have everyone who conjured a Dark Mark and they have three who worked with the dragon, and one who set off an explosion on the other end of the village from where you were. They don't know who the leaders are-- they only know who their immediate superiors are. That's how the organization works, so the head can't be cut off."

"We know who the head is."

"Well, he'd be rather difficult to arrest."

"Lucius Malfoy is next in line."

"You can't prove that, and neither can anyone else."

Harry looked dejected, but then he remembered what Parvati had said the last time he had seen her, the real her, and his face both brightened and hardened. "Pansy Parkinson actually threatened Parvati right before she was taken."

"I know. Pansy has the same alibis as the rest of the Slytherin fifth-years."

"Can't we just throw out the whole house? Or at least investigate them?"

"I wish we could. We don't have grounds to do any more than we've done. Pansy claims that that was an empty threat, and that she makes them all the time. She does, too, from what I understand." Harry was silent. "You haven't actually answered my question. How do you feel about Parvati?"

"We aren't really dating. The Daily Prophet made that up when people started saying I needed a better pretend girlfriend than Hermione."

"You know what I meant."

"I don't… I don't think it's my fault. I didn't ask for this. She knows who I am and what I am, and she started talking to me in public anyway."

Sirius exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "I'm glad you feel that way."

Slowly, Harry began to drop the sarcastic manner that had characterized his half of their conversation. "I didn't, at first. I'm not sure I could have helped that day we were attacked even if I had been able to see. But then, when I was watching Parva-- Padma fighting the Imperius Curse, I was thinking, I don't mean this in a conceited way, that it would have been so easy for _me_ to throw it off, but she was just fighting with everything she had. I couldn't help her throw it off, but somehow I knew that I could help, somehow. And I did. I found the wand, which didn't end up helping, but it could have."

"It could have."

"I can't help everything. I just… have to do what I can, like everyone else does. But sometimes because I happen to be" Harry randomly gestured at the famous scar that adorned his forehead "I can do more than other people. Not more important things, but more dramatic. Was that what you wanted me to say?"

"This isn't a test, Harry."

"Then what is it?"

"It's me, trying to figure out if something's bothering you that I can help you with."

"Not really. You can't find out what happened to Padma and Parvati, or stop it from happening again. You can't make sure that Voldemort won't walk in here tomorrow and Avada Kedavra everyone between him and me."

"No, but there are things I can do."

"I know."

"Good. Then why did you make this conversation so difficult?"

"I just didn't feel like having it, I guess. It makes me feel like I'm one of those advanced Charms students from a few years ago who started practicing hexes on each other, and that doctor decided they were enjoying it and they had to go to a magical hospital for interrogation and everything."

Sirius laughed. _"Have_ you been practicing hexes on your friends?"

"Not since before the Triwizard Tournament ended. And I felt bad about it then."

"The evaluation's over, then."

"Do I pass?"

"With flying colors."

"Speaking of flying." Hedwig had returned. She was not a small owl, but she seemed to be struggling with the weight of various rolls of parchment bound to her leg. Sirius relieved her of them and she ruffled her wings gratefully before going to sit on Harry's shoulder. Upon seeing the topmost paper, Sirius grinned.

_The Ministry of Magic hereby acquits Sirius Black of any wrongdoing and removes any mention of criminal offenses from his official records_.

Sirius handed the paper to Harry. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," replied Harry, but he shuddered as he took it.

"What?" asked Sirius, concerned.

"Nothing. I just, I can't believe you almost gave this up for me."

"It wouldn't have been worth anything without you."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, but confident that Sirius knew what he meant. Sirius for his part, was continuing through the rolls of parchment.

"Now this one is something we have to discuss," said Sirius.

"Why?"

"Well, this" Sirius handed Harry another square of parchment "is a custody form. If I sign this, you'll come stay with me on holidays unless we make other arrangements, and I'll be your legal guardian. As I should have been all along," he added with the slightest trace of bitterness.

"And?"

"Do you still want me to sign it?"

"Of course!"

"I figured as much." Sirius took out Hermione's quill and hastily signed his name, as if, despite the conversation he and Harry had just had, he was afraid that Harry might change his mind. Harry, for his part, was thinking that Sirius' signature on that line was equally as beautiful as the paper declaring his innocence. "Now, this," Sirius indicated another square of parchment, "is an adoption form. It's a lot like a custody form, but it makes me legally your father. How do you feel about that?"

"I… I think maybe you'd better sign that one too, if you want to." Sirius did so, and then stared at it as if in a trance until Harry asked what the other pieces of parchment contained.

"Let's see… Gringotts authorizations… they went over the number of galleons I asked for, way over, there won't be any problems with you finishing Hogwarts, and they're handing us a house free and clear… permission to have a flying motorcycle, never thought I'd get that... and--" Sirius broke off with a radiant smile. He had to have seen it before, but he had been so caught up in the idea of finally making Harry really, truly, _his_ that he had not noticed.

"That's your wand? From before?"

"This is my wand." Sirius caressed the slender stick lovingly before remembering that such behavior was the root of all wand jokes, and that Severus Snape could conceivably be watching him out of a window and making an obnoxious remark. With that sobering thought in mind, Sirius muttered a summoning charm and then put his wand away.

Before Harry and Sirius now stood a heavy metal box. "That's what you summoned?" Harry asked curiously. "Is that one of the boxes you put in a vault at Gringotts?" Sirius nodded, hoping that Harry would figure out just which box this was before he had to explain. Harry did not disappoint him. "Is this the one those pictures from the trial were in?"

"That's right."

"Are you going to open it?"

"You are. Everything in it is yours."

"Oh."

"If you aren't ready to look inside yet, you don't need to. I promise you that nothing bites."

"No, I'm ready." Harry proceeded to open the box, hoping that he seemed reverent and not eager. Aside from the pile of gold in his Gringotts vault, he had inherited nothing from his parents but his father's invisibility cloak.

He knew right away what the first items in the box must be; they were nearly identical to something he already owned, something which was even now pinned to his chest. He picked them up together, a matched set, never meant to be separated. The design had changed only slightly over the years.

"Head Boy and Head Girl badges," narrated Sirius unnecessarily.

Beneath them were a handful of letters, some addressed in writing eerily like Harry's own and some addressed in a decidedly more feminine hand.

"Those were from just after they left Hogwarts. They got engaged right away, but your father was off on pre-auror training, so they wrote each other." Despite the melancholy of the moment, Sirius felt a smile tug at his lips.

Harry, noticing, shoved some of the confused emotions out of his eyes and spoke. "Have you read…"

"No, of course not. Not lately at any rate. I saw James' when he wrote them."

"And?"

"And." Sirius gave a semi-sane laugh. "Your father loved your mother very much, Harry. Don't doubt that. But he couldn't write a romantic letter to save his life. They usually degenerated into derogatory comments about me."

Harry put the letters aside quickly, not wanting to bring up any more powerful memories for Sirius just yet. If Sirius became unable to handle to contents of the box, Harry knew that he would have no chance, either.

Next out of the box was a Rememberall. "Your mother thought it was pretty. She didn't need it," Sirius explained. Then came several pieces of jewelry, including an especially bright necklace filled with green gemstones-- emeralds?-- the same color as Harry's eyes. "Isn't it awful? I think your mother asked for it sarcastically and your father took her seriously. He had a more-money-than-brains day."

Deeper inside were several well-worn books: _The Beaters' Bible_ ("rule number one: take out the seeker"), _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and _The Noble Sport of Warlocks_. "That one's a first edition," Sirius explained. "Your mother got it for your father around the time they started dating. The other two are just classics. I imagine you've read them."

"Not _The Beaters' Bible_. I don't like reading about all the ways they could attack me."

"You have to understand your enemy!"

Harry was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to ask a question. He could not fathom why he had never asked anyone before. "What position did my father play?"

"Mostly chaser. Sometimes seeker."

"What about you?"

"What makes you think I played at all?"

"You came out of hiding and risked your life to watch two years ago."

"Hardly conclusive evidence, but you're right. Sometimes chaser, sometimes beater. I tended to get a little, er, overenthusiastic when I played beater and lose Gryffindor more points than I was worth in fouls."

This bit of information surprised Harry not at all. The box was empty now, but for the photographs. Harry brushed through them haphazardly, wanting to look more closely but knowing that it would be difficult for Sirius to see them, particularly those that included Peter Pettigrew. Harry half-scowled and debated whether to have the blond boy's image removed.

"Thank you," did not seem enough, but it was what Harry said.

"I wish it were more."

"It's wonderful, but, Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"It's been enough time. You're more than fashionably late."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I like having you around, but I don't think you should make Remus sit through that all by himself."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Sirius nodded and took his leave of his godson, inwardly rejoicing that his leave would be neither permanent nor indefinite, that he would see Harry later that day, because Harry was his now, given to him by the law as well as by James and Lily. He would never be able to love a child of his own better than he loved Harry.

Sirius tore himself away from his bittersweet thoughts as he drew closer to the conference room. He had to be prepared to walk inside as if he owned it, as if he expected Cornelius Fudge to rise and bow down to him.

His near-swagger and his quick smile came instantly to him as soon as he opened the door. He felt years wash away, but remain, as even in this dangerous time sweet memories flowed back to him. He took his seat beside Remus and prepared to think derogatory thoughts about the Ministry in general, and Cornelius Fudge in particular. Voldemort was back; but was Voldemort any match for this group?

X

On the grounds far below Sirius, Harry remained where his godfather had left him. Ron and Hermione, seeing that Sirius had left, came back and deposited themselves on either side of Harry.

"Well?" asked Hermione.

Harry flopped onto his back, suddenly exhausted. "What you'd expect. Full pardon. Adoption papers." He groped for the box. "Old letters and things from my parents."

"Harry, that's wonderful! How can you be so calm about it? Can we see-- oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask that. But I'm _so_ happy for you, and Ron is too, aren't you, Ron? This is amazing!"

Ron had flopped to the grass beside Harry. "Yeah, that's great, Harry."

Harry smiled. "I'm not really calm. It's just a lot to think about. And yes, I'll show you everything in there if you want to see. Just give me a minute."

"Oh, of course." Slightly more tentatively, Hermione lay down, too. "Did Sirius go to the meeting?"

"Yeah."

"Are you terribly upset?"

"About the meeting? No. About Voldemort?" Ron winced but let Harry's use of the name pass. "Usually I would be, but today I just feel like he's not any match for us."

Hermione looked for a second as if she might reprimand Harry for being foolhardy, but Ron broke in instead. "That's the spirit." He reached across Harry to grab his hand, and Hermione's too, and dragged them into an odd three-way handshake that left them all laughing as they stared at the clouds above them.

The End

**Original Closing Note, 2001**:_The war subplot has been left open-ended because this story has two sequels, "Cyanide" and "Raised to the Third Power." "Cyanide" comes next, but since most of the readers of this story seem to be specific fans of one character (Remus, Sirius, or Harry), I feel obligated to warn you that they are not the focus of Cyanide. Percy Weasley took that story over, and didn't even have the decency to stay in character while he did it! The major supporting roles are Ron and Professor Snape. If you don't want to read about them, I recommend skipping to "Raised to the Third Power," which puts the focus back on Moony and Padfoot and Harry and his friends._

_For those who are upset that I haven't entirely tied up the Patil Twins plot, I do apologize. But Harry is learning to deal with being out of control and the point of view is largely his. (Looks around anxiously hoping readers will buy that argument and not see this as a cliffhanger not to be resolved until "Raised to the Third Power," if then.) The primary plots of this story were intended to be Sirius' innocence and Harry's state of mind, and I think that those have both been wrapped up. The war subplot took over a bit when I was playing with twin switches, but the war subplot was supposed to be, well, a SUBplot that tied this story to its sequels. The three stories seem to be more of one story than I initially thought they would be. This is less of a stopping point than I expected it to be. I hope you aren't too mad at me._

**Notice of Revision, 2007**:_The horror, the horror! I just finished reposting this six-plus years after the original writing, and I want to gouge out my own eyes so there will be no chance I ever have to see it again. (Gag me with a spoon. Over the top sappy, plotless, out of character much? Actually, I have no problem with plotlessness—I've loved many plotless fics, and some are even my own. And the character issues weren't so bad when canon consisted of four books.) I feel like I should apologize to everyone who has ever read this. _

_Anyway, the revision only involved correction of typos; obviously, the story has not been brought into compliance with canon. _

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed over the years; I read and appreciated them all._


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